UC-NRLF 


B    3    BSD    E53 


THE 

LAST 

REFUGE 


HENRY  B. FULLER 


- 


{)enrp  33.  f  tiller 


FROM   THE  OTHER   SIDE.     Stories  of  Trans 
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THE    LAST   REFUGE.    Crown  8vo,  $  1.50. 

HOUGHTON,    MIFFLIN  &  CO. 
BOSTON  AND  NEW  YORK. 


THE  LAST  REFUGE 


THE  LAST  REFUGE 

91  Sicilian  Romance 


BY 


HENRY  B.  FULLER 


O  Semprerinascente,  o  fiore  di  tutte  le  stirpi, 
Aroma  di  tutta  la  terra, 

Italia !  Italia ! 

D'Annunzio. 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 
HODGHTON,  MIFFLLN  AND  COMPANY 


1900 


COPYRIGHT,   1900,   BY   HENRY   B.  FULLER. 
ALL   RIGHTS   RESERVED, 


CONTENTS 

PART  I. 

PAGE 

THE  Two  ROMES 1 

PART  IL 
LN  PURSUIT 36 

PART  ni. 
STILL  SOUTHWARD 81 

PART  IV. 
THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE 117 

PART  V. 
APPLES  OF  DISCORD 163 

PART  VI. 
MANCEUVRINGS 204 

PART  VII. 
THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS 240 


583755 


THE  LAST  REFUGE 


PART  L  — THE  TWO  ROMES 


"  So,  then,"  said  the  Freiherr,  half  gravely,  half 
whimsically,  "  we  understand  each  other.  From 
this  day  forth  my  dependence  shall  be  wholly  on 
you." 

He  raised  his  hand  from  the  travertine  balus 
trade  and  placed  it,  with  a  kind  of  fond  appeal, 
upon  young  Bruno's  shoulder.  "  Yes,  your  eyes 
shall  be  my  eyes ;  your  senses  shall  be  my  senses. 
I  shall  see  things  as  you  see  them,  and  feel  them 
as  you  feel  them ;  and  the  world  that  was  so 
beautiful  in  my  youth  shall  become  beautiful  once 
again." 

Bruno  turned  his  dark  eyes  upon  his  new  found 
friend  in  a  glance  that  was  full  of  good-will,  and 
as  full  of  sympathy  as  his  years  would  allow. 

"  I  will  do  my  best  for  you.  But  the  world  is 
beautiful  already,  and  nowhere  more  beautiful 
than  here."  The  young  man's  glance  reverted 
once  more  to  the  panorama  spread  out  beneath 
them  and  around  them :  the  winding  valley  of  the 


2  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

Tiber,  whose  encircling  hills  held  aloft  the  pines 
and  cypresses  of  many  a  storied  villa;  the  wide 
huddle  of  red-tiled  roofs  which  sheltered  the  ut 
most  that  poor  man  may  do  with  pen  and  pencil 
and  chisel ;  the  noble  and  graceful  sweep  of  more 
mountain-chains  than  one,  felt  if  not  indeed  actu 
ally  seen  ;  and  the  numberless  domes  that  rose 
everywhere  to  swell  in  unison  with  the  expansive 
masses  of  cumuli  that  heaped  themselves  up  in 
the  heavens  to  catch  the  last  light  of  the  disap 
pearing  sun. 

"Beautiful?  I  felt  it  so,  too  —  once,"  said  the 
Freiherr,  with  a  pathetic  little  moan.  "What 
would  I  give  to  feel  it  so  once  more ! " 

Rome  lay  before  them  —  the  two  Romes,  rather : 
the  Rome  of  youth,  and  the  Rome  of  the  immi 
nent  middle  years ;  and  the  two  pairs  of  eyes  that 
scanned  this  impressive  volume  from  the  parapet 
of  the  Pincian  read  it  in  two  different  lights  and 
toward  two  different  ends.  To  young  Bruno  de' 
Brunelli  it  was  a  book  of  novelties  and  wonders 
—  a  book  that  others  indeed  had  read  before  him, 
but  that  still,  by  some  magic  process  of  rejuvena 
tion,  held  its  pristine  freshness  all  unimpaired. 
To  the  Freiherr  of  Kaltenau  it  had  come  to  be  a 
volume  dingy  and  dismal  and  disappointing  be 
yond  all  others ;  dog-eared,  thumb-marked  by  much 
unworthy  handling ;  stale,  empty,  and  unprofitable 
utterly.  And  as  each  of  them  saw  Rome,  so  each 
of  them  saw  the  world.  Yet  who  shall  blame  you, 
Rome,  if  you  are  one  thing  when  seen  for  the  first 


THE  TWO  ROMES  3 

time  at  twenty,  and  another  when  seen  for  the 
second  time  at  forty  ?  If  we  may  blame  you,  we 
may  blame  the  whole  wide  world  as  well.  The  Frei- 
herr,  despite  multiplied  dissatisfactions  and  disen- 
chantments,  was  not  yet  ready  to  blame  the  world. 
"  It  is  old,  and  worn,  and  very  shabby,  true,"  he 
would  say,  "but  it  is  not  beyond  the  animating 
and  revivifying  influences  of  youth.  The  new  gen 
eration  comes  rolling  up  in  its  multitudinous  waves 
against  the  rocky  shelvings  of  Things  as  They  Are, 
and  flings  its  tonic  spray  into  our  poor  parchment- 
dry  faces  as  we  stand  peering  out  disconsolate  into 
vague  nothingness  upon  an  unanswering  shore. 
And  for  me,  who  shall  be  forty  within  a  month, 
what  last  resort  remains?  The  last  of  all,  as  it 
should  seem,  must  be  in  youth." 


II 

Theodor  Egmont,  Freiherr  of  Kaltenau,  for  the 
first  time  in  eighteen  years,  and  for  the  second 
time  in  his  life,  had  left  his  ancestral  seat  in  the 
Yorarlberg  to  descend  into  Italy.  But  the  years 
had  wrought  their  difference :  the  second  coming 
was  not  like  the  first.  The  frank  and  facile  enthu 
siasms  of  a  youth  celebrating  his  majority  were  far 
beyond  the  reach  of  a  man  who  was  upon  the  point 
of  completing  his  fourth  decade.  Como  told  him 
so,  and  Cremona,  and  Verona,  and  Venice,  and 
Florence  ;  and  Koine  had  made  it  the  plainest  of 
all.  No  longer  did  his  heart  leap  up  to  meet  the 


4  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

mountains  round  about  Bellagio  ;  no  longer  could 
the  rapid  swirls  of  Adige  sweep  him  on  in  a  trans 
port  to  other  scenes  brighter  and  fairer  still.  Ven 
ice  was  the  seamy  side  of  a  stage  curtain ;  Florence 
was  a  dusty  rug  dimmed  by  the  careless  tramplings 
of  thousands  of  ignoble  feet.  The  Freiherr  felt  all 
this  with  a  dull  and  puzzled  pain.  Something  was 
slipping  away  from  him,  and  he  had  no  power  to 
reach  out  and  call  it  back.  Something,  indeed, 
had  slipped  away  from  him,  but  back  it  should 
and  must  be  brought.  The  Freiherr  gallantly 
held  despair  at  arm's-length ;  "I  will  make  my 
final  stand  at  Rome,"  he  said. 

This  resolution  he  uttered  as  he  paced,  with  firm- 
set  jaw  and  contracted  brows,  one  of  the  more  re 
mote  of  those  shady  and  solitary  alleys  that  burrow 
their  alluring  way  through  the  greenery  of  the 
Cascine  at  Florence.  But  the  yellow  Arno,  just 
beyond,  had  no  message  for  him ;  nor  could  Monte 
Morello,  looming  up  vaguely  blue  through  the 
beeches  and  lindens,  evoke  a  responsive  note. 
Nature  delighted  him  not,  nor  man,  nor  the  works 
of  man  ;  he  thought  of  the  churches  and  galleries 
with  indignation  and  dread.  "  What  has  happened 
to  me?"  he  asked  himself.  "I  am  like  a  violin 
string  that  from  mere  slackness  gives  forth  no 
sound.  I  am  like  a  photographic  plate  that  from 
exposure  has  lost  its  capacity  for  receiving  impres 
sions."  His  thoughts  went  back  ruefully  to  those 
Venetian  photographers  who  follow  old-fashioned 
methods  within  the  vestibule  of  St.  Mark's,  and 


THE  TWO  ROMES  5 

who,  on  dull  days,  must  needs  make  an  exposure 
of  half  an  hour  to  get  any  result  at  all.  "  Per 
haps,  when  all 's  said,"  he  thought,  hopefully, 
"  time  may  be  the  necessary  element.  But  I  have 
not  so  many  half  hours  remaining  as  I  once  had  ; 
nor  am  I  come  to  Italy  to  plant  myself  for  an 
indefinite  period  upon  one  spot.  Far  better  to  take 
my  poor  dulled  self  at  once  to  some  competent 
practitioner  and  be  resensitized  !  " 

His  thoughts  roamed  back  over  the  past  eighteen 
years,  and  he  could  not  but  acknowledge,  at  the 
close  of  his  retrospect,  that  the  life  of  the  Freiherr 
of  Kaltenau  had  been  indeed  too  free  ;  —  too  free 
from  ties,  from  duties,  from  obligations,  from  re 
straints  ;  too  free  from  guidance,  too  free  from  the 
kindly  pressure  of  any  ordering  hand.  He  felt 
himself  to  be  too  like  a  fluent  stream  for  which  no 
watchful  guardian  had  reared  the  banks  needed  to 
give  direction,  effect,  serviceableness  to  its  course ; 
on  the  contrary,  he  had  spread  himself  out  wide, 
thin,  ineffective,  in  many  directions.  So  far  from 
performing  the  task  of  a  respectable  and  self- 
respecting  canal,  he  was  but  in  too  great  danger 
of  becoming  a  mere  succession  of  shallow  and  stag 
nant  pools.  "  If  I  stand  still  for  a  single  half 
hour  too  long,"  he  thought,  "  the  slime  will  begin 
to  collect  upon  me.  And  that "  —  firmly  —  "  must 
not  be." 

He  felt  himself  at  once  too  old  and  too  young, 
too  experienced  and  too  inexperienced.  He  knew 
some  things  that  he  should  be  only  too  glad  to 


6  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

forget,  and  felt  himself  too  innocent  in  certain 
matters  that  every  man  of  his  age  should  have 
familiarized  himself  with.  Life  had  offered  him 
a  fair  place  at  her  banquet  board,  but  he  had 
ignored  the  orderly  progress  of  her  courses  and 
had  tousled  her  table  with  an  impatient  and  con 
scienceless  hand.  The  book  of  life  had  been 
opened  wide  before  him,  but  he  had  declined  to 
make  the  usual  advance  that  leads  straight  on  from 
chapter  to  chapter ;  the  rather  had  he  fluttered  the 
leaves  carelessly,  glanced  at  the  end  before  reach 
ing  the  middle,  and  thoroughly  thwarted  the  aims 
and  intentions  of  the  great  Author. 

His  thought  reverted  to  the  city  —  a  city  of 
mute  Madonnas,  and  of  vacuous  altar-screens,  and 
of  cypressed  hilltops  all  echoless.  "  No,  there  is 
nothing  for  me  here.  I  shall  go  to  Rome  to-morrow 
and  there  make  my  final  stand." 


Ill 

And  Rome  had  betrayed  him.  A  single  short 
week  had  served  to  make  this  cruelly  plain.  The 
city  that  had  once  rung  in  resonant  unison  with 
his  whole  being  now  gave  out  but  the  dull  and 
shadowy  sound  of  muted  strings.  The  mighty 
capital  that  had  been  so  reverberant  in  the  days 
of  his  youth  had  naught  but  flatness  and  hollow- 
ness  for  his  middle  years.  The  mosaics  said,  "  We 
have  nothing  to  give  to  you  ;  "  the  fountains  said, 
"  We  have  nothing  to  sing  to  you."  The  obelisks 


THE  TWO   HOMES  7 

pointed  rigidly  aloft  toward  empty  space ;  the 
catacombs  failed  even  to  suggest  reflections  that 
might  console  one  for  the  coming  of  the  inevitable 
end.  "  4  The  Scipio's  tomb '  "  —  he  began  to  mur 
mur  one  day ;  "  oh,  even  ashes  were  better  than 
absolute  nothingness !  "  The  new  Forum  puzzled 
him ;  the  despoiled  villas  enraged  him ;  the  carefully 
edited  ruins  of  the  Palatine  —  how  far  away  those 
blessed  Sunday  afternoons  upon  the  Septizonium  ! 
—  filled  him  with  an  aching  regret.  The  great 
Borghese  Titian,  which  had  once  struck  out  so  full 
and  majestic  an  orchestral  chord,  seemed  now  no 
more  than  a  simple,  commonplace  duet  between 
French  horns ;  while  as  for  the  Raphaels  of  the 
Farnesina  —  but  he  had  not  trusted  himself  to  go 
and  see  them.  He  dragged  his  feet  wearily  through 
street  and  square  and  garden ;  but  ennui  yawned 
at  him  beneath  the  Mattel  pines,  and  disappoint 
ment  looked  out  at  him  with  piteous  apology  from 
the  eyes  of  prophets  and  sibyls.  If  by  any  chance 
he  came  to  the  point  of  actual  enjoyment  he  would 
be  made  to  feel  all  too  plainly  that  his  enjoyment 
was  merely  retrospective.  "  If  this  pleases  me 
now,"  he  would  say,  as  he  strolled  through  the 
Corsini  gallery  or  lingered  in  the  Medici  garden, 
"that  is  only  because  it  has  pleased  me  before. 
Enjoyment  of  enjoyment  past !  I  am  living  among 
shadows,  and  it  is  all  too  soon  for  that ! " 

Then  heartache  would  peer  at  him  grievously 
from  the  twilight  dusk  gathering  under  ilex  trees, 
and  disgust  would  cast  her  clammy  mantle  across 


8  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

his  protesting  shoulders,  and  desperation  would 
follow  close  behind  him  as  he  returned  rapidly 
through  the  darkening  streets  to  his  cheerless  and 
solitary  lodgings.  "  Another  day  gone ;  another 
defeat  endured,"  he  would  sigh. 

"  It  is  a  rout,"  he  finally  declared.  "  I  must 
rally  my  forces  for  a  final  stand.  I  will  fall  back 
upon  the  citadel  itself.  If  the  Pincian  cannot  save 
me,  I  am  beyond  the  reach  of  aid." 

Upon  this  promenade,  so  beautiful,  so  accessible, 
so  inexhaustible  (if  used  aright),  so  endeared  by 
association,  he  planted  his  standard.  The  recol 
lections  of  a  long,  full,  happy  winter,  many  years 
before,  came  flocking  to  reinforce  him.  There  had 
been  days  for  galleries  and  days  for  churches  and 
days  for  ruins  and  days  for  the  Campagna,  but 
every  day  had  been  a  day  for  the  Pincian.  There 
had  been  hours  for  vespers  and  hours  for  the 
bank  and  hours  for  social  duties,  but  every  hour 
had  been  an  hour  for  the  Pincian.  The  band 
might  play  or  not ;  the  carriages  might  circulate 
or  not ;  the  dawdling  crowd  might  lounge  or  not ; 
the  robust  and  magnificent  Roman  nurses  might 
bring  hither  their  charges  or  not ;  the  pallid,  bare 
legged  little  boys  of  the  fortunati  might  sail  their 
boats  in  the  great  fountain-basin  or  not ;  the  spec 
tacled  students  of  the  Collegium  Germanicum 
might  carry  their  red  gowns  past  in  solemn  pro 
cession  or  not ;  some  pudgy  little  compatriot,  with 
her  plan  spread  out  upon  the  balustrade  of  the 
great  terrace's  central  projection,  might  be 


THE  TWO   HOMES  9 

thwarted  by  the  approach  of  nightfall  in  her  so 
lution  of  some  deep  topographical  puzzle  or  not; 
still  the  lovely  garden,  so  open,  so  serene,  so  sim- 
pie,  so  dowered  with  spacious  vistas,  was  always 
there,  and  always  radiant  with  a  gracious  welcome. 

There  was  some  choice  in  the  matter  of  ap 
proach,  too,  and  these  opportunities  for  variation 
he  had  elaborated  with  painstaking  care.  To-day 
he  would  climb  the  face  of  the  hill  from  the  foun 
tain  in  the  piazza  at  its  foot  —  mounting  aloft,  ter 
race  after  terrace,  past  niche  and  parapet  all  nobly 
set  with  sculptured  groups  and  trophied  columns, 
through  steep  plantations  of  cypress  and  carob 
and  laurel  and  many  other  growths  whose  name- 
lessness  (for  him)  was  more  than  made  good  by 
their  grace  and  fragrance.  And  the  great  cupola 
beyond  Tiber  would  rise  as  he  rose,  disentangling 
itself  from  meaner  monuments  as  readily  as  from 
the  simple  shrubs  that  hedged  his  pathway ;  and 
in  the  end  the  city  would  lie  there  map-like  at  his 
feet,  while  he  and  the  One  Dome  were  free  to  lord 
it  jointly  over  all. 

To-morrow  he  would  gain  the  garden  level  at 
the  beginning,  and  start  from  the  head  of  the 
scalone  that  led  up  to  the  two-towered  church,  and 
would  tread  an  airy  half  mile  above  the  housetops. 
Here,  too,  there  was  variety  and  choice.  When 
the  acacia  walk  gave  out,  the  ilex  walk  began ;  and 
rampe,  terrace,  and  esplanade  ever  prompted  the 
contriving  of  new  modes  of  advance  that  might 
tax  his  ingenuity  and  satisfy  his  aesthetic  sense. 


10  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

Here  he  had  the  Dome  from  the  start.  Its  buoy 
ancy  responded  to  his  ;  its  dignity  answered  back 
his  seriousness.  Its  presence  both  expanded  and 
ennobled  him,  and  he  felt,  across  the  red  reach  of 
inexpressive  roofs  that  filled  in  the  valley  between 
them,  a  high  exchange  of  mutual  understanding 
and  respect.  On  these  grave  occasions,  and  on 
most  others,  he  had  been  quite  alone.  Things 
were  often  more  to  him  than  men,  and  places 
more  than  personalities.  He  had  been  capable  of 
almost  any  height  of  disinterestedness,  of  almost 
any  aberration  of  abstractedness.  He  had  lived  in 
his  own  little  world  of  ideas,  in  a  fine  non-human 
fashion ;  he  had  seldom  felt  the  need  of  another's 
sympathetic  participation  in  his  moods,  and  would 
have  made  such  a  demand  with  some  reluctance 
and  with  grave  doubt  of  any  satisfactory  issue. 
But  now,  to-day?  A  mood  had  come  that  should, 
perhaps,  have  come  before. 


IV 

The  Freiherr  stood  at  bay  on  his  Acropolis. 
His  gods  and  temples  were  about  him,  and  the 
enemy  were  in  the  full  fury  of  their  assault.  Al 
ready  he  felt  his  own  defeat.  Even  his  divinities 
seemed  to  have  deserted  him.  The  Dome  was 
turning  upon  him  a  leaden,  lack-lustre  look  bereft 
of  all  sympathy  and  understanding ;  and  the  Gar 
den  —  ah,  surely  the  Garden  was  as  a  stranger ! 
Nothing  about  it  was  right;  everything  about  it 


THE  TWO  ROMES  11 

was  wrong.  Where  was  its  tone,  its  harmony,  its 
atmosphere  ?  The  band  was  playing  —  its  music 
was  vulgar ;  the  water-clock  was  working  —  its 
activity  was  trivial ;  the  children's  swings  were  in 
movement  within  a  certain  secluded  inclosure  — 
such  play  was  plebeian.  The  dwarf  palms  per 
formed  their  office  but  stumpily,  and  the  broken- 
nosed  busts  were  more  broken-nosed  than  ever. 
And  the  holiday  throng  he  saw,  at  last,  in  the 
clear  cold  light  of  fact;  whether  on  foot  or  on 
wheels,  they  were  the  deteriorating  inhabitants 
of  a  deteriorating  capital.  In  the  old  days 
every  dowdy  dowager  in  her  landau  had  easily 
been  a  duchess,  and  every  dandy  lounging  against 
the  panel  of  her  carriage  door  had  been  an  at 
tache  ;  his  facile  fancy  had  brought  together  the 
whole  world  of  diplomacy  and  aristocracy  and  had 
made  them  hold  high  revels  on  that  broad  graveled 
eminence. 

And  to-day  ?  To-day  any  possibility  of  illusion 
was  past.  He  knew  them  all  for  what  they  were, 
and  where  he  did  not  know  he  doubted  and  sus 
pected  and  scorned  and  condemned.  He  turned 
his  back  upon  those  congested  carriages  and 
walked  toward  the  edge  of  the  terrace.  This, 
then,  was  Rome.  The  city  of  his  idealizing  youth 
had  vanished  ;  the  modern  town,  with  all  its  draw 
backs,  difficulties,  problems,  disfigurements,  sins 
of  omission  and  commission,  spread  gray  before 
him.  The  goblin  of  municipal  folly  rose  on  one 
side,  and  the  spectre  of  parliamentary  rascality  on 


12  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  other.  Sanctity,  at  the  Vatican  —  away,  now, 
with  toe  kissings  and  peacock  fans  and  Easter 
blessings  !  —  had  descended  into  the  grimy  arena 
of  present-day  politics  and  was  heading  the  rising 
hosts  of  an  industrial  democracy.  Majesty,  at  the 
Quirinal  —  alas  for  the  gallant  day  outside  Porta 
Pia !  —  was  smiling  and  bowing  its  propitiatory 
way  through  bazaars  and  hospitals  from  very  fear 
of  ceasing  to  be  majesty  at  all.  Gone  was  the 
dignity  and  the  poetry  of  a  great  day.  Gone  for 
him  was  all  hope  of  joy ;  gone  the  capacity  for 
enjoyment  along  with  his  early  years.  He  had 
made  his  last  stand ;  he  was  defeated,  routed.  He 
must  give  up  every  idea  of  pushing  further  south 
—  he  was  beyond  the  reach  of  human  help. 

Lamenting  over  the  city,  over  the  bygone  years, 
over  the  loss  of  his  own  susceptibilities  and  en 
thusiasms,  Theodor  von  Kaltenau  repeated  inter 
nally,  with  a  deep  bell-like  intonation  that  seemed 
to  sound  the  utmost  luxury  of  woe,  his  final  phrase, 
"  Beyond  all  human  help."  The  observation  had 
cadence,  pathos,  intensity,  and  seemed  an  admir 
able  instrument  with  which  to  plumb  the  abyss  of 
self-pity  on  whose  brink  he  was  luxuriating.  But 
with  the  third  or  fourth  repetition  he  became  con 
scious  of  a  flaw.  Human  help,  in  fact,  was  the 
help,  the  one  help,  the  only  help,  that  he  had  not, 
thus  far,  invoked  at  all.  He  was  too  honest  with 
himself  to  gloze  this  over ;  he  felt,  at  once,  that  a 
last  resort  —  untried,  yet  fairly  promising  —  still 
remained. 


THE  TWO  ROMES  13 

"  I  see  my  way  at  last,"  he  said.  "  Human 
help  is  exactly  the  kind  of  help  I  need,  —  but  a 
very  particular  and  especial  variety  of  human  help. 
I  must  bestir  myself  to  find  it." 


"  It  is  quite  plain,"  he  reflected,  as  he  passed 
down  the  face  of  the  hill,  "  that  my  own  youth  is 
gone,  and  gone  beyond  recall.  But  youth  still 
survives  in  others  and  must  be  made  to  lend  it 
self  to  my  necessities.  I  must  search  for  the 
young  heart,  for  the  fresh  eye,  for  the  un jaded 
mind ;  for  hope,  for  momentum ;  for  nerves  yet 
unblunted,  for  imagination  yet  untarnished.  My 
search  shall  begin  to-morrow.  And  if  it  fails,  I 
return  to  Kaltenau  forthwith.  For  Sicily  were 
vain." 

Straightway  began  the  Freiherr's  quest  for  the 
youth  who  was  to  repair  the  ravages  of  the  flying 
years  and  work  him  his  redemption.  He  coursed 
the  town,  just  as  the  transported  amateur  ferrets 
out  the  darkest  haunts  of  dealers  in  curios  and 
antiquities.  The  theatres  knew  him,  and  the  fox 
hunts  ;  the  hotel-keepers  and  the  bankers ;  the 
Forum  and  every  public  promenade.  Many  were 
called.  He  considered  the  tone  of  this  instrument 
and  the  timbre  of  that ;  touch,  quality,  volume, 
responsiveness  —  all  these  had  to  be  borne  in 
mind.  And  finally  one  was  chosen. 

But   not   until   the   Freiherr   had   encountered 


14  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

many  trials  and  disappointments.  One  promising 
candidate  went  through  the  paces  satisfactorily 
enough  only  to  be  rejected  finally  upon  the  Campi- 
doglio :  he  refused  to  climb  the  tower  of  the 
Capitol.  This  was  decisive  for  the  Freiherr,  who, 
inordinately  fond  of  general  views  and  prospects, 
insisted  that  his  associate  should  fully  share  his 
taste.  "  How  is  Jeremiah  to  lament  over  the 
city,"  he  asked  his  young  companion,  "  unless  he 
attains  a  point  from  which  to  overlook  it?  "  —  for 
he  designed  his  lamentation  to  be  thoroughly 
comprehensive,  and  to  embrace  the  ancient  city  as 
well  as  the  modern.  To  this  the  youth  returned  a 
look  of  uncomprehending  inquiry.  "  He  will  not 
do,"  decided  the  Freiherr;  "he  needs  to  have 
things  explained.  His  wits  are  as  sluggish  as  his 
legs."  And  the  search  went  on. 

Another  candidate  —  the  Freiherr  first  met  him 
at  his  banker's  —  seemed  possessed  of  a  singularly 
alert  and  vivacious  mind  and  of  a  tense-strung 
nervous  organization  to  which  physical  fatigue  was 
almost  a  stranger.  But  this  young  man  came  to 
grief  in  the  gardens  of  the  Villa  Mattei,  one  of 
the  Freiherr' s  own  sanctuaries :  he  tweaked  the 
nose  of  a  statue  and  passed  a  jest  upon  it.  The 
Freiherr  was  inexpressibly  outraged.  He  could 
endure  the  whimsical,  but  could  not  tolerate  the 
facetious,  and  he  had  no  mercy  for  the  wrong 
thing  done  in  the  wrong  place.  True,  the  statue 
was  of  no  artistic  value,  and  the  offender  himself 
came  from  a  distant  land  where  no  statues  are ; 


THE  TWO  ROMES  15 

but  the  offense  remained.  "  Could  I  endure  to 
journey  with  an  irreverent  jester,  with  an  uncivil 
ized  clown  ?  "  the  Freiherr  demanded  within  him 
self.  "  No."  And  the  search  went  on. 

A  third  candidate,  one  of  the  Freiherr's  own  com 
patriots,  was  admirable  in  the  galleries ;  he  had  a 
great  fondness  for  pictures  and  statues,  and  was 
a  marvel  in  the  sympathetic  and  enlightened  com 
ments  he  passed  upon  them.  But  there  was  one 
great  drawback :  he  insisted  upon  an  exact  observ 
ance  of  the  luncheon  and  dinner  hour  —  an  observ 
ance  that  was  almost  automatic.  "  This  is  quite 
wrong,"  sighed  the  Freiherr ;  "  at  his  age  I  never 
cared  when  I  ate  or  where  I  ate  or  whether  I  ate 
at  all.  What  kind  of  enthusiasm  is  it  that  keeps 
an  eye  on  the  clock  and  a  hand  on  the  stomach  ? 
What  sort  of  a  companion  would  this  young  fellow 
be  on  the  Campagna  or  among  the  Abruzzi  ?  I 
dare  not  commit  myself  to  him." 

Still  another  youth,  a  singularly  wholesome  and 
ingenuous  one,  he  encountered  on  the  Campagna 
itself,  one  morning  when  the  foxhounds  met  un 
der  the  arches  of  the  Aqua  Claudia.  "  Ha !  " 
said  the  Freiherr,  eternally  hopefid,  "  here  is  one 
who  has  a  frank  brow  and  the  eyes  of  innocence 
indeed!  He  will  have  the  responsive  ring  of  a 
fine  coin  newly  minted."  But  this  promising 
youth,  it  developed,  had  brought  his  own  land 
along  with  him,  and  his  own  land's  atmosphere 
—  an  atmosphere  that  was  a  non-conductor  of  new 
ideas  and  an  impediment  to  the  passage  of  fresh 


16  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

sensations.  "  He  cannot  serve  me,"  said  the  Frei- 
herr,  with  a  true  regret. 

Many  others  did  the  Freiherr  pass  in  review, 
like  an  absorbed  amateur  in  the  shop  of  a  violin- 
maker.  The  instruments  flew  to  his  hand,  for  he 
was  singularly  successful  in  his  addresses  to 
younger  men.  He  was  gracious ;  he  could  still 
project  himself  frankly  and  unaffectedly ;  he 
could  say  in  effect,  or  at  least  convey  the  impres 
sion  by  his  manner :  "  You  are  almost  as  old  as 
I ;  "  and,  again  :  "  I  am  almost  as  young  as  you." 
Then  he  would  weave  the  two  declarations  into  one 
and  wield  them  as  an  irresistible  unity  by  which 
the  disparity  of  years  and  experience  was  almost 
obliterated. 

The  concours  went  on,  but  without  result.  One 
candidate  was  bored  by  the  opera.  "  Heavens  ! 
how  could  I  have  so  misjudged !  "  exclaimed  the 
Freiherr,  and  dropped  the  unfortunate  at  once. 
Another  turned  out  to  be  an  untamable  sportsman. 
"  What !  "  cried  von  Kaltenau,  "  must  I  endure 
the  constant  popping  of  the  rifle  all  over  Calabria, 
and  have  my  trail  through  Sicily  marked  by  the 
bloody  little  bodies  of  larks  and  hares  ?  "  A  third 
soon  declared  himself  for  an  inordinate  pursuer  of 
pretty  faces.  "A  disturbing  element,  indeed," 
pronounced  the  Freiherr.  "I  hope,  of  course, 
that  I  can  make  due  allowance  for  young  blood ;  " 
—  but  young  blood  dropped  serious  engagements 
at  the  rustle  of  skirts,  and  was  but  too  like  to  im 
peril  many  a  high  emprise  at  the  behest  of  beauty. 


THE  TWO  HOMES  17 

Into  this  poetical  form  the  Freiherr  cast  his  de 
cision  and  dropped  the  boy  forthwith. 

The  quest  had  gone  on  for  nearly  a  fortnight. 
"  I  shall  be  forty  in  little  more  than  a  week,"  he 
moaned.  "  The  case  is  becoming  serious.  Where, 
where  shall  I  turn  to  grasp  a  rescuing  hand  ?  One 
last  resort  remains :  I  will  go  into  Society." 


VI 

That  evening  he  went  to  a  ball  given  at  a 
haughty,  high-shouldered  old  palace  in  the  Corso. 
A  friend  at  court,  a  complaisant  hostess,  and  a 
burnous  loaned  by  an  obliging  painter  all  combined 
to  make  the  move  easy.  The  Freiherr  was  espe 
cially  pleased  with  his  costume.  It  seemed  of  it 
self  to  constitute  one  long  step  in  his  advance 
upon  Arabian  Sicily.  Already  his  imagination 
began  to  play  about  Saracenic  portals  and  panel- 
ings  and  to  traffic  with  the  great  Frederick  at 
Favara,  earliest  of  cosmopolites. 

The  androne  rang  with  sharp  hoofs  and  rever 
berated  with  the  clatter  of  pressing  carriages. 
Guests  in  varied  attire  climbed  the  forked  arms  of 
the  vast  staircase.  The  Freiherr  climbed  with  the 
rest  and  found  the  fete  in  full  swing  under  the 
frescoed  and  stuccoed  ceilings  of  half  a  dozen  great 
saloons. 

It  was  a  fete  like  other  fetes,  he  found.  He 
took  up  his  discontented  post  behind  a  huge 
column  of  giallo  antico  and  meditated  upon  the 


18  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

hollowness  of  formal  social  pleasures.  It  was  a 
company  like  other  companies,  he  saw.  There 
was  the  usual  number  of  shy  people  in  striking 
costumes,  and  the  usual  number  of  serious  people 
in  comic  ones  ;  there  were  just  so  many  ineffectives 
who  could  not  keep  within  their  parts,  and  just  so 
many  recalcitrants  who  would  not  —  persons,  these, 
who  had  objected  to  assuming  the  costume  of  any 
part  whatever.  There  were  those  who  kept  up  a 
brave  pretense  of  novelty  and  of  enjoyment,  and 
there  were  those  who  had  abjectly  fallen  into  frank 
boredom.  To  but  too  many  others,  as  well  as  to 
von  Kaltenau,  all  this  was  plainly  a  twice-told  tale. 

"  I  shall  leave  early,"  he  muttered. 

At  that  very  moment  a  new  and  striking  figure 
came  moving  through  the  crowd.  It  was  that  of 
a  young  man  who  pushed  his  agile  way  between 
a  Doge  and  an  Egyptian  priestess  and  advanced 
buoyantly  in  the  costume  of  Bacchus.  A  panther 
skin  hung  over  his  shoulder ;  a  crown  of  ivy  and 
of  grape  leaves  was  set  lightly  on  his  dark  locks. 
His  sandaled  feet  carried  him  over  the  mosaic  pave 
ment  with  an  elastic  grace,  and  the  sweep  of  his 
garlanded  thyrsus  confidently  commanded  the  room 
that  his  movements  required.  There  was  a  care 
less  smile  on  his  lips,  a  sparkle  of  frank  and  enthu 
siastic  enjoyment  in  his  black  eyes,  an  utter  yet 
patrician  abandon  in  his  every  step  and  gesture. 

"  I  must  know  that  boy  before  this  hour  to-mor 
row,"  the  Freiherr  declared  to  himself. 

He  heard  a  sigh  at  his  elbow.     An  elderly  man 


THE  TWO  ROMES  19 

gowned  in  black  stood  there  beside  him  and  looked 
at  him  with  a  rueful  smile. 

"  Such  audacities  are  not  for  us,"  murmured 
the  dark  shade,  as  his  glance  followed  the  pass 
ing  wine-god.  "  Only  the  young  can  work  these 
wonders." 

Von  Kaltenau  was  nettled ;  this  stranger  was 
ten  years  his  senior,  if  a  day.  Was  his  own  dread 
of  the  middle  years  but  a  mere  attitude  ?  He 
looked  a  second  time  at  the  indiscreet  speaker. 

A  grave,  gray-haired  person  with  a  sad  face. 
Besides  his  long  black  gown,  he  wore  a  black  cap 
of  a  formal  legal  cut.  He  bore  a  large  wine-stain 
upon  his  cheek,  and  this,  with  the  rest,  declared 
him  to  be  Dottore  Balanzoni,  of  the  Venetian 
comedy  of  masks.  But  never  were  mien  and 
manner  less  the  mien  and  manner  of  the  come 
dian. 

The  Freiherr  felt  too  much  pity  to  feel  offense. 
"  Yes,  only  the  young  can  work  such  wonders," 
he  conceded.  "  Youth  is  the  great  magician  and 
should  be  given  full  scope  to  perform  its  miracles. 
More,  it  should  be  provided  with  miracles  to  per 
form.  Ay,  and  it  shall  be  !  "  he  added  with  a 
touch  of  passion. 

Young  Bacchus  went  lightly  on  his  way.  The 
eyes  of  the  old  lightened,  and  the  eyes  of  the 
young  flamed  —  save  those  that  drooped  before 
such  daring. 

Dottore  Balanzoni  sighed  once  more  —  a  little 
breath  that  was  not  without  its  touch  of  pathos. 


20  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  You  are  unhappy,"  said  von  Kaltenati.  "  You 
are  carrying  that  within  you  which  were  better 
given  vent.  Speak  out." 

The  Freiherr  smiled  encouragingly  upon  his 
elderly  companion.  In  some  matters  he  was  at 
the  mercy  of  his  own  whims,  and  he  could  now 
and  tnen  feign  such  a  sympathetic  interest  in  the 
concerns  of  others  as  almost  to  deceive  himself. 

"  You  ask  for  the  —  the  story  of  my  life  ? " 
questioned  the  other,  guardedly.  It  was  apparent 
that  any  reserves  existing  might  easily  be  re 
moved. 

"  I  am  not  entitled  to  ask  so  much,"  rejoined 
the  Freiherr,  quickly.  He  glanced  out  past  his 
column  and  saw  over  the  heads  of  the  motley 
throng  the  thyrsus  brandished  beneath  the  lustre 
of  the  next  saloon.  "  Nor  could  I  wait  to  hear  so 
much,"  he  added  to  himself. 

"  You  would  be  asking  very  little,"  returned 
the  other.  "  The  story  of  my  life  is  a  short  one. 
For  I  have  never  lived  —  no,  I  have  never  lived 
at  all." 

The  speaker  paused  after  the  enunciation  of 
this  sombre  fact  to  note  the  effect  it  produced. 

The  Freiherr  was  indeed  surprised.  "  And  yet," 
he  began,  perplexedly,  pushing  back  from  his  tem 
ples  the  camel's-hair  cords  that  bound  his  haik, 
"  you  are  —  you  are  "  — 

"  I  am  what  you  see  me.  I  am  a  professor  at 
home,  and  I  am  a  professor  abroad.  I  hold  a  chair 
in  one  of  the  great  universities  of  the  North,  and 


THE  TWO  HOMES  21 

I  bring  my  poor  trade,  as  you  see," — his  hand 
brushed  his  gown  as  he  spoke  —  "  even  into  the 
halls  of  pleasure.  I  was  a  student  from  the  be 
ginning,  and  I  have  never  been  anything  else." 

The  Freiherr  bowed  gravely.  The  bacchic  pine- 
cone  had  vanished,  but  a  shepherdess'  crook,  gilded 
and  beribboned  and  held  aloft  over  the  heads  of  the 
crowd,  was  advancing  from  the  other  apartment. 
Presently  the  bearer  passed  —  a  shepherdess  ma 
ture  and  experienced,  but  still  a  shepherdess. 

"You  mean  "  —  began  the  Freiherr,  looking  at 
the  diamond  necklace  that  drooped  upon  the  am 
ple  bosom  of  this  figure  a  la  Watteau,  —  "  You 
mean  that "  — 

"  I  mean  that  I  am  paying  the  price  of  pride  — 
a  pride  all  too  stubborn,  ill-judged,  and  confident. 
My  pride  took  this  form  :  I  resolved  early  to  con 
duct  my  life  along  a  plane  purely  intellectual. 
My  natural  disposition  made  this  easy  —  a  dis 
position  to  find  interest  in  ideas  rather  than  in 
individuals.  I  ignored  the  personal  element,  and 
saw  life  as  a  mere  set  of  cold  abstractions.  I 
thought  that  I  was  administering  my  natural 
forces,  when,  in  truth,  I  was  curbing  them,  thwart 
ing  them,  numbing  them,  crushing  them.  This 
was  a  grave  error,  and  I  am  hoping  that  I  may 
yet  rectify  it.  That  is  the  purpose  of  my  travels." 

"  You  are  from  the  North,  you  say  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  and  I  am  journeying  toward  the  South  — 
the  South,  where  life  had  its  birth  and  has  reached 
its  best  developments.  For,  as  I  have  told  you,  I 


22  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

have  never  yet  lived.  I  haughtily  suppressed  the 
just  desires  and  the  just  demands  of  the  physical 
man ;  I  fear  that  I  even  ignored  my  natural  indebt 
edness  to  my  own  parents." 

"  I  have  lived,"  murmured  the  Freiherr,  —  "  ir 
regularly.  I  was  given  a  good  seat  at  the  feast  of 
life,  but  I  was  impatient  of  order  and  restraint. 
I  snatched  here,  I  nibbled  there ;  I  disordered  the 
table  and  came  away  unsatisfied." 

"  And  I,"  said  the  other,  "  have  sat  at  a  bare 
board  all  my  days." 

"  Yes,  I  have  lived,"  repeated  von  Kaltenau, 
looking  down  at  the  mosaic  garland  upon  which 
his  red  morocco  toe  was  beating.  "  The  book  of 
life  opened  itself  wide  before  me;  but  I  rum 
maged  it  and  rumpled  it  and  took  it  in  discon 
nected  snatches  "  — 

"  While  I,"  interrupted  the  other,  "  have  merely 
looked  at  its  covers." 

"  What  are  you  meaning  to  do  ?  " 

"  I  will  tell  you.     I  am  "  — 

Young  Bacchus  came  returning  through  the 
room.  But  not  alone.  His  steps  were  attending 
those  of  a  tall  young  girl  in  white,  who  moved  on 
with  a  stately  grace,  clad  in  a  white  peplum  bor 
dered  with  gold  and  violet.  A  Junonian  coronet 
of  brilliants  sparkled  on  her  black  hair,  but  her 
face  was  turned  away.  The  face  of  the  young 
man,  however,  was  in  the  fullest  view.  It  had 
lost  the  possible  shade  of  haughtiness  that  it  had 
worn  before,  and  as  he  eagerly  bent  forward  in 


THE  TWO   HOMES  23 

step  with  his  companion  it  expressed  only  bound 
less  admiration  and  the  desire  to  please  —  a  smil 
ing  desire,  but  a  very  earnest  one. 

"  I  will  tell  you,"  repeated  the  Doctor  out  of 
Goldoni ;  and  von  Kaltenau  felt  constrained  to 
bring  back  his  wandering  attention. 

"  There  is  a  city,"  began  Dottore  Balanzoni, 
with  some  solemnity,  "  that  sits  beside  the  sea. 
The  way  is  south,  then  westward  over  the  water. 
It  is  the  city  of  the  senses.  It  is  girdled  by  a 
sweep  of  rich  fields,  —  the  green  and  golden  fields 
of  oranges  and  myrtles.  There  is  a  bay  bright 
in  the  sunlight  and  nobly  tapestried  round  about 
with  many  blue  mountains.  And  every  height 
bears,  I  am  told,  some  relic  —  whether  of  temple, 
church,  or  castle  —  commemorating  those  who,  in 
past  ages,  have  sought  happiness  near  this  favored 
spot.  And  above  the  last  of  these  mountain 
heights  there  should  rise  one  greater  than  all,  a 
peak  crowned  at  once  with  snow  and  with  fire. 
This  is  the  city  where  wrongs  are  made  right, 
where  errors  are  condoned  and  corrected,  where 
omissions  and  shortcomings  are  made  good,  where 
satisfactions  and  felicities  await  the  stout-hearted 
and  the  determined  —  perhaps  even  the  timid  and 
the  piteous  will  be  accorded  welcome.  This  is  the 
city  I  seek  —  if  such  there  be ;  these  are  the  ob 
jects  I  would  attain  —  if  such  may  there  be 
reached.  I  have  wandered  far,  and  have  little 
time  to  wander  farther.  I  have  endured  many 
disappointments,  and  could  scarcely  endure  an- 


24  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

other.  There,  if  anywhere,  fate  must  be  kind; 
there,  if  anywhere  "  — 

He  paused,  with  a  tremor  in  his  voice  and  a 
tear-drop  in  his  eye.  The  two  young  Olympians 
had  passed  from  sight,  and  the  Freiherr  again 
fixed  his  abashed  and  perturbed  look  upon  the 
mosaic  garland. 

"Do  I  see  my  own  future  here?"  he  asked 
himself.  "  Never,  —  never,  by  my  life  !  Some 
one,  some  one,  shall  save  me  from  such  an  end ! " 

"  There,"  resumed  the  other,  "  there,  upon  that 
city,  my  hopes  are  centred.  For  me"  —  he  fixed 
the  Freiherr  with  a  tristful  glance  —  "it  is  the 
Last  Refuge." 

The  Freiherr  mused :  "  A  mountain  of  snow 
and  of  fire,  you  say  ?  But  may  not  one  find  it  a 
mountain  of  snow  and  of  —  smoke  ?  " 

"  Smoke  ?  "  repeated  the  other.  "  Such  may  be 
the  case,"  he  acknowledged  gravely.  "  But  all 
that,"  he  added  with  an  uncertain  smile,  as  he 
lapsed  into  the  dog-Latin  proper  to  his  part,  "is 
on  the  knees  of  the  gods." 


VII 

The  guests  had  begun  to  leave.  Doges  more 
than  one  had  gathered  up  their  trains  and  sena 
tors  more  than  one  their  togas ;  the  Watteau 
shepherdess  stepped  majestically  down  the  great 
stairway ;  and  over  the  topmost  balustrade  young 
Bacchus  leaned  to  set  the  aureole  of  his  adieu 


THE  TWO   ROMES  25 

upon  a  descending  head  whose  midnight  hair  was 
already  crowned  with  stars. 

"  The  hour  is  late  for  an  aging  person  like  me," 
observed  the  Freiherr;  "  I  will  go,  too."  And  he 
gathered  up  the  folds  of  his  white  woolen  burnous 
and  took  his  leave. 

Within  the  space  of  time  that  he  had  set  he  met 
the  ivied  young  divinity  of  the  Palazzo  Astrofiain- 
mante,  and  had  begun  to  apply  his  various  touch 
stones  to  this  newest  candidate,  with  the  highest 
hopes  for  final  success. 

Bruno  de'  Brunelli  —  such  was  the  young  man's 
name  —  was  a  native  of  Illyrian  Zara,  and  had  but 
lately  left  his  province  for  the  first  time.  His 
father  had  been  the  cadet  of  a  collateral  line  of  an 
ancient  Italian  house  whose  seat  was  in  the  far 
south,  and  his  mother  was  the  daughter  of  a  Slavic 
chieftain  who,  in  earlier  days,  had  ruled  his  little 
clan  settled  in  one  of  the  valleys  under  Mount 
Dormitor,  the  mighty  mass  that  throws  its  great 
shadow  alike  over  the  boundaries  of  Montenegro 
and  of  Herzegovina.  He  had  lived  the  most  of 
his  twenty-three  years  in  the  old  gothic  palace  at 
Zara,  and  now  had  issued  thence  to  cross  the 
Adriatic  and  to  see  the  world. 

Youthful,  alert,  generous,  gallant,  enthusiastic, 
whole-hearted,  he  came  into  the  Freiherr's  hands  as 
might  have  come  a  shining  silver  disk.  Von  Kal- 
tenau  received  the  offering  with  a  due  regard  for 
its  value,  and  propped  it  on  three  fingers,  and 
strained  a  critical  ear  as  he  struck  its  edge  again 


26  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

and  again  with  the  knuckles  of  his  closed  hand. 
The  disk  rang  melodiously  and  always  true.  To 
this  young  Illyrian  everything  was  new,  fresh, 
vital ;  everything  was  a  target  for  the  impetuous 
rush  of  his  eager  senses.  Rome  shook  off  its  dust, 
rose  from  its  ashes.  The  world  was  reborn  —  or 
seemed  about  to  be. 

The  Freiherr  applied  all  his  little  tests ;  Bruno 
stood  every  one  of  them.  Other  young  men  had 
been  indolent,  or  irreverent,  or  self-indulgent,  or 
narrow  and  stolid,  or  selfishly  cruel,  or  over-sus 
ceptible.  Bruno,  thus  far,  seemed  to  be  none  of 
these.  As  for  the  range  of  his  sympathies,  that 
was  soon  seen  to  be  boundless.  He  liked  ruins  — 
a  happy  day  at  Ostia  showed  this.  He  liked 
idyllic  landscape  —  an  enchanting  afternoon  at 
Nemi  manifested  that.  He  rose  buoyantly  to 
Guide's  Aurora,  making  that  time-dimmed  and  all 
too  familiar  masterpiece  once  more  resplendent  in 
the  Freiherr 's  eyes ;  and  he  paid  such  ardent  hom 
age  to  the  Barberini  Juno  of  the  Sala  Rotonda 
that  neither  he  nor  his  companion  had  eye  or 
thought  for  the  bacchic  Antinous  in  the  opposite 
niche.  He  liked  mediaeval  frescoes  in  underground 
churches,  and  carried  a  willing  candle  with  the  rest 
on  one  of  the  open  days  at  San  Clemente  ;  he  liked 
catacombs,  and  almost  vivified  the  dry  bones  of 
S.  Agnese  Fuori  by  the  poignancy  of  his  interest. 
He  reveled  in  gardens  —  nothing  pleased  him 
more  than  to  lie  at  ease  under  the  stone  pines  of 
the  Villa  Borghese,  or  to  pat  the  mossy  balustrades 


THE  TWO  ROMES  27 

of  the  Villa  Panfili.  This  last  touch  gave  the 
Freiherr  immense  pleasure.  "  He  does  it  just  as 
I  myself  once  did  it.  This  is  more  —  much  more 
—  than  I  have  any  right  to  ask !  " 

One  point  remained  unsettled  :  the  young  man's 
religion.  The  Freiherr  took  him  to  high  mass  at 
the  Lateran.  Bruno  carried  himself  with  such 
discretion  and  participated  in  the  function  with 
such  a  practised  precision  that  the  question  was 
answered.  Von  Kaltenau,  himself  palely  Lutheran, 
would  have  liked  from  his  companion  the  profes 
sion  of  a  religion  still  more  rich  and  alien  and 
exotic.  In  his  private  thoughts  he  united  Bruno 
to  the  Greek  faith,  and  in  his  mind's  eye  he  saw 
the  young  man  at  his  devotions  before  a  richly 
gilded  Byzantine  screen,  adoring  icons  on  bended 
knee  and  touching  a  humble  forehead  to  the 
ground.  But  he  waived  the  point  —  the  picture 
faded.  "  I  must  not  expect  everything,"  he  ac 
knowledged  ;  "  I  have  more  now  than  I  could  have 
dared  to  dream  of." 

One  final  test  remained,  and  the  Freiherr,  after 
a  few  days'  delay,  ventured  to  apply  it.  He  took 
Bruno  to  see  an  operetta.  "  If  he  only  behaves 
as  he  should  "  — 

Bruno  was  perfect.  He  applauded  the  soprano 
no  more  than  he  applauded  the  tenor.  He  en 
couraged  the  young  women  of  the  chorus  in  no 
greater  degree  than  he  encouraged  the  middle-aged 
men  of  the  orchestra. 

"  My  last  apprehension  is  laid,"  declared  the 


28  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

gratified  Freiherr;  "no  matter  of  the  heart  is 
likely  to  interfere.  Yes,  he  shall  go  with  me  to 
Sicily." 

VIII 

Von  Kaltenau  was  flooded  by  a  deep  sense  of 
gratitude.  To  this  young  prodigy,  who  was  brush 
ing  away  his  cobwebs,  airing  his  musty  chambers, 
and  polishing  his  dingy  panes,  he  felt  he  owed 
some  act  of  formal  homage.  He  ransacked  the 
whole  Balkan  peninsula  in  his  effort  to  confer 
upon  Bruno  some  suitable  style  and  title.  With 
the  chieftain  of  the  early  years  of  the  century  in 
mind,  he  hailed  his  latest  descendant  as  voivode, 
starshina  hospodar,  —  titles  whose  precise  value 
he  knew  none  too  well.  Possessed  of  the  name 
of  the  district  over  which  the  stern  old  chief  had 
held  sway,  he  hailed  young  Bruno  as  Glavar  of 
Tzermitna  and  mentally  made  prostrations  before 
him. 

Bruno  showed  neither  pleasure  nor  displeasure 
at  these  ascriptions.  He  took  each  one  of  them 
with  a  simple  seriousness  that  perplexed  the  Frei 
herr  and  finally  nettled  him.  "  What ! "  he  ex 
claimed  ;  "  have  I  found  a  flaw,  after  all  ?  Is  the 
boy  vain  ?  Can  he  be  influenced  by  mere  crude 
flattery  ?  Is  he  not  simple  enough  to  bear  the 
pride  of  lineage  with  an  easier  grace?  When 
all 's  said,  can  his  rank  be  higher  than  my  own  ?  " 

Despite  this  dissatisfaction,  he  pressed  the  Sici 
lian  journey.  But  the  point  needed  no  pressing ; 


THE  TWO  ROMES  29 

Bruno's  face  was  already  set  unmistakably  toward 
the  south.  "  Surely,  if  we  are  both  going,  we 
should  go  together,"  said  von  Kaltenau  to  him 
one  day.  "Subjects  of  a  common  sovereign,  to 
whom  we  owe  a  like  allegiance,  what  is  fitter  than 
that  we  should  bear  each  other  company  ?  " 

Though  the  Freiherr  made  this  advance  in  his 
most  gracious  manner,  young  Bruno  gave  him  but 
a  doubtful  look  in  response.  "  Ha !  "  thought  the 
Freiherr.'  "  The  bond  that  holds  our  heterogeneous 
empire  together  is  none  too  strong,  truly;  but  I 
had  not  looked  to  find  lukewarmness  here,  least  of 
all  disloyalty."  And  he  asked  Bruno  what  he  was 
to  understand. 

Bruno  gave  him  a  straightforward  and  unaf 
fected  answer.  He  did  not  know  where  his  al 
legiance  was  rightly  due.  He  was  an  Austrian 
to-day,  but  he  might  be  an  Italian  to-morrow. 
Humors  of  a  Sicilian  dukedom  in  need  of  an  heir 
had  lately  reached  the  Illyrian  coast,  and  to  his, 
the  remotest  branch  of  the  great  house,  had  come 
letters  of  inquiry  after  a  fruitless  search  in  every 
other  quarter.  "  The  succession  may  have  failed," 
he  said ;  "  or  there  may  be  none  to  fail.  It  may 
be  a  dukedom  or  it  may  be  less.  I  may  be  the 
heir,  or  there  may  be  no  heir  at  all.  I  go  south 
ward  to  learn  what  I  may." 

His  rehabilitation  in  the  Freiherr's  eyes  was 
complete,  and  his  personality  ten  times  more  inter 
esting  than  before. 

"  There  will  be  a  dukedom  for  you,"  cried  von 


30  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

Kaltenau,  "  or  we  will  make  you  one  1 "  A  pro 
mise  kept  to  the  letter  —  almost. 

As  they  stood  there  together  in  the  big  central 
recess  of  the  mid-Pincian's  front,  young  Bruno 
looked  the  flower  of  nobility  indeed,  and  the  Frei- 
herr,  close  by  his  side,  could  not  but  wish  himself 
a  shade  less  stout  and  a  shade  more  carefully 
dressed.  The  boy's  slender  elegance  was  wrapped 
up  in  a  black  frock-coat,  the  masterpiece  of  some 
tailor  triumphant ;  every  gesture  was  full  of  an 
easy,  unstudied  grace  ;  and  when  he  saluted  some 
passing  carriage  his  fine  dark  hair,  whose  growth 
was  smooth  and  straight  in  its  beginnings,  but 
rather  curly  and  flaunting  at  the  finish,  showed 
at  the  back  and  above  the  ears  the  print  of  his 
hat  —  as  if  a  fillet  (from  the  antique)  had  just 
been  removed.  But  there  were  few  to  whom  he 
bowed.  "  Good,"  said  the  Freiherr  ;  "  the  fewer 
he  knows,  the  better." 

All  was  now  agreed  upon,  and  nothing  remained 
but  to  ratify  the  pact.  "  You  promise  me,  then  ?  " 
demanded  the  Freiherr.  "  Your  eyes  shall  be  my 
eyes  ;  your  senses  shall  be  my  senses.  And  as  you 
have  given  me  a  new  Eome,  so  you  will  give  me  a 
new  world.  You  promise?" 

"  I  promise,"  replied  Bruno.  And  they  struck 
hands  upon  it. 

IX 

An  instant  later,  the  young  man,  glancing  over 
his  shoulder,  had  withdrawn  his  hand,  lifted  his 


THETWOROMES  31 

hat,  and  made  an  involuntary  start,  as  if  to  leave 
the  Freiherr  and  to  cross  the  fifty-foot  stretch  of 
smooth  gravel  that  lay  between  them  and  a  car 
riage  halted  in  the  shade  of  an  ilex-tree.  The 
Freiherr,  looking  after  Bruno,  saw  three  persons 
get  into  the  carriage  and  resume  their  drive  round 
the  ring.  Two  of  them  were  elderly,  and  one  of 
them  was  young.  The  two  elders  appeared  to  be 
rather  severe  and  difficult ;  the  male  member  of 
the  pair,  who  was  carried  away  with  his  back 
toward  the  coachman  and  his  face  toward  our  two 
friends,  gave  Bruno  a  look  of  the  most  sour  and 
discouraging  character.  Their  young  companion, 
a  girl  beautiful  to  the  most  careless  eye,  looked 
straight  ahead,  though  her  position  on  the  near 
side  of  the  carriage  would  have  made  a  salutation 
easy,  and  might  have  been  held  (even  by  a  youth 
less  eager  than  Bruno)  to  make  it  almost  inevitable. 

"  Ah !  there  she  is !  there  she  is !  "  he  cried, 
with  a  second  start,  as  if  the  carriage  were  a  prac 
ticable  object  of  pursuit. 

"  Who  ?  "  asked  von  Kaltenau,  severely. 

"  Ah  !  there  is  Donna  Violante,  there  is  Donna 
Violante  ! "  proceeded  Bruno,  intent  rather  upon 
expressing  himself  than  upon  replying  to  his  com 
panion's  inquiry.  He  put  his  hand  stiffly  behind 
his  back,  as  if  to  make  the  waving  of  it  impossible. 
"  She  saw  me,  she  saw  me  !  And  she  will  see  me 
when  she  passes  by  again  !  "  He  took  up  a  new 
position,  as  if  in  anticipation  of  the  carriage  on  its 
next  round.  "  She  is  one  of  the  Astrofiammanti," 


32  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

he  went  on,  in  more  definite  response  to  the  Frei- 
herr's  question ;  "  a  distant  cousin  —  one  of  the  re 
mote  Sicilian  branch.  She  is  here  for  a  month  with 
her  parents  —  curse  them !  "  he  concluded  darkly. 

But  his  frown  soon  passed.  "  Tell  me,  is  n't 
she  the  most  beautiful,  the  most  exquisite  creature 
you  ever  saw  ?  " 

"  She  seemed  very  pretty  and  pleasant  and 
tastefully  dressed,  as  nearly  as  I  might  judge 
from  a  mere  glance  —  and  a  distant  one,  at  that." 
The  Freiherr  felt  he  had  said  all  that  civility 
required,  or  that  appreciation  —  his  appreciation 

—  could  justify. 

"  Ha ! "  cried  Bruno,  with  a  vibrant  note  of 
indignation.  "  Can  you  say  no  more  than  that  ? 
Let  me  tell  you,  then  :  she  is  not  pretty ;  she  is 
not  pleasant  —  unless  she  wants  to  be  ;  she  is  not 
tastefully  dressed,  nor  was  she  ever  nor  will  she 
ever  be  save  when  dressed  for  what  she  is,  a  god 
dess.  Come !  "  He  caught  the  Freiherr  by  the 
arm,  dragging  him  away  from  the  parapet,  and 
pointing  toward  the  row  of  stone  stumps  that  set 
definite  bounds  to  the  course  for  carriages ;  "  come ; 
stand  with  me  there,  and  look  again  when  next  she 
passes.  You  ask  for  my  eyes  ?  Take  them  !  "  — 
with  a  gesture  as  if  to  pluck  them  from  his  face 

—  "  and  let  them  serve  to  show  you  how  her  lips 
may  smile.     My  ears  ?     Take  them,  and  listen  — 
should  good  luck  but  befriend  you  —  to  the  music 
of   her   voice.     You   shall   have   my   very  heart 
strings,  at  need,  before  such  a  paragon  shall  go 


THE  TWO  ROMES  33 

unappreciated.  You  saw  her  eyes,  her  profile,  her 
walk,  and  yet  you  "  — 

The  Freiherr  stopped  him.  "  Oh,  this,"  he 
moaned  to  himself,  "  why,  this  is  worse  than  my 
worst  imaginings  !  "  Then,  — 

"Where  did  you  meet  her?"  he  asked. 

"  At  the  Astrofiammante  ball.  I  first  saw  her 
as  she  was  coming  up  the  stairway.  Had  you  but 
noticed  her  there  !  She  had  the  beauty  of  a  god 
dess,  and  the  dress,  and  the  carriage,  too !  " 

"  The  dress  ?  " 

"  She  wore  a  Greek  peplum  ;  her  black  hair  was 
knotted  at  the  nape  of  her  neck ;  on  her  forehead 
shone  a  coronet  of  stars  "  — 

"  I  remember,"  said  the  Freiherr  faintly.  "  I 
—  I  saw  her." 

"  You  saw  her !     And  yet  you  "  — 

"  I  saw  her  back,  I  mean.  And  later  on  I  saw 
the  top  of  her  head,"  the  Freiherr  acknowledged 
spiritlessly. 

"  Then  come  ;  stand  here.  And  you  shall  pre 
sently  see  her  face  to  face.  Look ;  there  is  the 
carriage  now.  In  a  moment  more  it  will  make 
that  turn,  and  "  — 

The  carriage  made  its  turn,  but  it  was  a  turn  in 
the  opposite  direction.  There  was  a  distant  glit 
ter  of  spokes  and  panels,  and  Donna  Violante's 
parents  rolled  off  the  grounds  and  carried  their 
daughter  with  them. 


34  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


"  I  have  his  promise,"  reflected  the  Freiherr, 
pondering  over  the  twist  affairs  had  taken  ;  "  but 
can  I  expect  him  to  keep  it?  Will  he  leave  Rome 
while  she  is  here  ?  Can  I  press  my  interests  if  his 
own  become  as  engrossing  as  they  threaten  to? 
And  yet  must  I  be  disappointed  in  the  end,  and 
reconcile  myself  to  see  the  labors  of  a  busy  month 
result  in  nothing  ?  Pray  heaven  some  further  turn 
of  the  wheel  may  come  to  favor  me  !  " 

He  was  under  a  new  dispensation  indeed. 
Bruno,  whom  he  had  been  seeing  every  day,  now 
appeared  but  twice  or  thrice  in  the  week.  The 
galleries  and  museums  knew  him  no  more ;  engage 
ments  that  led  toward  Tivoli  or  Frascati  were 
broken  without  compunction.  Instead,  Bruno 
haunted  the  Pincian  —  at  the  most  likely  hours ; 
and  strolled  up  and  down  the  Corso,  lounging 
slowly  past  the  shop-fronts;  and  often  went  far 
out  of  his  way  to  walk  through  the  Longara,  be 
yond  Tiber,  where  Donna  Violante  and  her  par 
ents  were  lodged  in  a  dismal  old  palace.  He 
came  to  know  the  quarterings  on  many  carriages, 
and  the  favorite  shops  of  the  ladies  of  the  aristo 
cracy,  and  the  physiognomy  of  the  old  palace  be 
yond  Tiber,  down  to  the  last  grille  and  pediment. 
But  his  suit  made  little  progress.  Frowns  doubled, 
for  the  mother's  were  added  to  the  father's,  and 
Donna  Violante  seemed  to  have  withdrawn  —  or 


THE  TWO  ROMES  35 

to  have  been  withdrawn  —  into  complete  inacces 
sibility.  But  he  persisted.  One  day  he  passed 
their  carriage  in  the  Corso.  The  double  frown 
was  blacker  than  ever,  but  Donna  Yiolante  con 
trived  to  convey  a  secret  signal  of  encouragement. 
That  night  found  him  beneath  her  window.  He 
spoke ;  she  listened  and  responded.  All  at  once 
she  was  pulled  away  from  the  window,  her  light 
was  extinguished,  and  her  blinds  were  closed. 
Debarred  here,  he  still  persisted  elsewhere,  and 
finally  his  persistence  brought  its  punishment. 

After  an  absence  of  three  days,  he  burst,  one 
afternoon,  into  the  Freiherr's  apartment. 

"  They  have  carried  her  off  to  Naples !  "  he 
cried. 

"  Ah  !  "  thought  the  Freiherr,  "  my  turn  in  the 
wheel  has  come  !  " 

Then  he  smiled  upon  the  flushed  and  panting 
Bruno.  "  We  will  leave  for  Naples  to-morrow 
morning,"  he  said. 


PAET  II. -IN  PURSUIT 


THE  hills  shifted  by,  rapidly,  regularly,  and  the 
hill  towns  with  them.  Bruno  thrust  forth  his 
head  to  count  off  the  flag-men  who  came  forward, 
each  from  his  little  house,  at  the  completion  of 
every  kilometre  ;  and  the  Freiherr,  throwing  back 
longing  glances  at  Palestrina  and  Anagni  and 
Ferentino  and  Frosinone,  began  to  wonder  if  he 
had  anticipated  the  full  torment  of  traveling  with 
a  young  man  deep  in  love. 

He  had  designed  this  passage  through  the  valley 
of  Sacco  to  be  an  experience  as  precious  as  ample 
leisure  and  sympathetic  interpretation  could  make 
it.  A  trusty  vetturino  should  guide  them  slowly 
from  town  to  town,  and  the  illuminative  commen 
taries  of  Bruno  de'  Brunelli  should  confirm  to 
him  all  that  his  own  delays  and  the  lapse  of  years 
had  jeoparded.  Who  better  could  guide  him 
through  savage  Palestrina,  a  town  founded  upon 
the  ruins  of  a  Roman  temple,  than  he  whose  boy 
hood  had  been  passed  in  part  at  Illyrian  Spalato, 
a  town  built  within  the  ruins  of  a  Roman  palace  ? 
What  better  commentary  upon  the  immemorial 
walls  of  Segni  and  of  Ferentino  than  that  to  be 


IN  PURSUIT  37 

furnished  by  the  fresh  eye  and  avid  mind  of  enthu 
siastic  youth?  What  better  complement  to  the 
rugged  mountains  of  the  Hernici  than  the  ever- 
present  image  of  the  suave  shores  of  the  Adriatic  ? 
Vain  hopes!  The  guide  so  carefully  chosen,  so 
fully  depended  upon,  was  propelled  by  love, 
straight  and  swift  as  from  a  catapult,  toward  Par- 
thenope.  Bruno  had  made  it  plain  that  delay 
could  not  be  heard  of,  nor  let  or  hindrance  en 
dured.  Yet  delay  came,  after  all,  and  hindrance 
had  to  be  endured  with  such  good  grace  as  he 
could  command. 

At  Borgo  San  Cipriano,  about  the  middle  of  the 
afternoon,  there  was  a  delay.  The  delay  length 
ened,  and  presently  the  reason  for  it  transpired  — 
in  the  leisurely  Italian  fashion  :  the  Giglio,  under 
the  impetus  of  heavy  rains  among  the  Apennines, 
had  risen  between  its  banks  and  wrought  all  havoc 
possible  for  so  mild-mannered  a  stream.  The 
bridge  just  ahead  had  been  weakened  to  such  an 
extent  that  the  labor  of  several  hours  would  be 
required  before  a  crossing  could  be  made  in  safety. 
And  as  for  the  bridge  over  the  highway,  a  few 
hundred  yards  above,  that  had  been  carried  away 
completely ;  a  half -demolished  stone  pier  stood  in 
mid-stream,  and  debris  crushed  impartially  the 
alder  bushes  of  both  banks  for  many  a  rood. 

Bruno  fretted,  fumed,  raged.  But  the  Freiherr 
said  to  himself,  "  We  shall  have  one  delay,  at 
least ! "  and  he  suggested  that  they  get  out,  put 
their  luggage  into  safe-keeping  and  see  the  town. 


38  THE   LAST  REFUGE 

It  was  evident  from  the  start  that  Borgo  San 
Cipriano  was  far  removed  to-day  from  its  normal 
state  of  complete  placidity.  "  And  who  can  won 
der  ?  "  asked  Bruno,  energetically ;  "  with  both  its 
bridges  down  and  its  people  shut  off  from  all  the 
world ! " 

"  From  half  the  world,"  the  Freiherr  amended 
mildly. 

"  From  all  the  world,"  repeated  Bruno,  with  a 
brusque  insistency ;  "  at  least  so  far  as  I  am  con 
cerned." 

But  Borgo  San  Cipriano  took  its  shattered 
bridges  very  calmly ;  something  more  important 
than  this  double  catastrophe  was  filling  the  mind 
of  the  town.  What  this  something  was  they  first 
learned  from  a  placard  displayed  on  the  front  of 
the  town-hall  (and  subsequently  met  with  at  many 
other  points),  announcing  the  performance,  on  that 
very  evening  —  "  Oh !  bless  the  broken  bridge !  " 
ejaculated  the  Freiherr  —  the  performance,  on  that 
very  evening,  at  the  new  Teatro  Comunale,  of  the 
great  masterpiece  of  the  illustrious  maestro  the 
immortal  Verdi,  entitled,  I  DUE  FOSCARI  ! ! 

The  pink  sheet  fluttered  in  the  wind  before  the 
Freiherr's  dancing  eyes,  and  the  big  black  letters, 
as  they  went  down  the  sheet  line  by  line,  seemed 
to  grow  bigger  and  blacker  and  richer  in  promise. 
" New  scenery,  especially  painted ;  "  —  "a  prima 
donna  expressly  from  Naples  ;  "  —  "  debut  of  our 
own  new  local  tenor  ;  "  —  "a  chorus  of  " —  an  al 
most  fabulous  number  of  voices,  from  the  point  of 


IN  PURSUIT  39 

view  of  the  impassioned  impresario ;  —  "  an  orches 
tra  composed  of  twenty-two  eminent  professors  "  — 
"  They  are  always  'professors  '  !  "  exclaimed  the 
Freiherr,  delightedly  ;  "  and  always  '  eminent ' !  " 

He  placed  his  hand  upon  his  young  companion's 
shoulder.  "  My  dear  Bruno,  it  is  fate  that  has 
guided  us  hither ;  and  here,  until  to-morrow,  we 
must  remain.  Your  bridge  will  never  be  repaired 
on  time,  and  even  if  it  were,  I  should  not  dare  to 
cross  it  in  the  dark.  No,  no  ;  don't  frown !  Just 
think !  —  'I  Due  Foscari,'  the  one  masterpiece  of 
the  immortal  Verdi  that  I  have  never  heard. 
Neither  have  you,  I  venture  to  wager.  Now  have 
you?" 

"  No,"  replied  Bruno,  reluctantly. 

"  And  just  pause  to  realize  what  this  perform 
ance  means.  The  whole  province  is  interested  — 
it  always  is.  The  provincial  nobility  will  come 
flocking  in  from  Sora  and  Ferentino  and  Arpino  — 
why,  it  will  be  the  sight  of  a  lifetime !  " 

"  How  will  they  get  here  ?  "  asked  Bruno,  con- 
tentiously.  "  The  bridges  are  down." 

"  What  are  bridges,"  cried  the  Freiherr,  "  when 
an  opera  is  involved  ?  There  are  other  bridges ; 
there  are  boats ;  they  will  get  here,  somehow. 
Come,  now,  my  dear  fellow ;  I  have  hurried  along 
for  you,  and  now  you  should  linger  a  little  for  me. 
What  do  you  say?" 

"  You  are  right,"  returned  Bruno,  after  a  mo 
ment's  thought.  "  We  will  stay." 

This  magnanimity  was  irresistible. 


40  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  You  are  all  I  thought  to  find  you,"  cried  the 
Freiherr,  gratefully.  "  We  shall  not  regret  the 
stoppage." 

• 
II 

But  even  "I  Due  Foscari"  and  the  Giglio's 
havoc,  they  presently  perceived,  did  not  exhaust 
the  interests  now  agitating  the  town ;  they  soon 
learned  that  the  assistance  of  the  provincial  nobil 
ity  might  be  augmented  by  the  presence  of  a  con 
spicuous  figure  from  the  great  world  outside.  For, 
as  they  continued  their  stroll  through  the  town, 
they  came  upon,  in  its  principal  street,  a  train  of 
coaches  and  a  throng  of  attendants  grouped  before 
the  door  of  the  principal  inn.  A  crowd  of  curious 
townspeople  were  collected  round  one  coach  larger 
and  more  sumptuous  than  the  others,  and  our  two 
young  men,  catching  sight  of  a  face  through  the 
window,  perceived  at  once  that  they  were  in  the 
presence  of  a  grande  dame  upon  her  progress. 

"  Poor  lady,"  said  the  Freiherr,  with  ready  sym 
pathy  ;  "  she  has  been  caught  by  one  bridge  just 
as  we  have  been  caught  by  the  other." 

The  consciousness  of  common  misfortune  quickly 
brushes  ceremony  aside,  and  the  further  conscious 
ness  that  one  is  not  wholly  unfamiliar  with  the 
other's  face  leads  swiftly  to  speech. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  Freiherr,  pushing  through 
the  crowd  of  gaping  countrymen,  "  it  is  evident 
that  we  are  involved  in  a  common  catastrophe." 

The  lady  bowed  graciously  through  the  open 


IN  PURSUIT  41 

window.  She  looked  at  him  with  much  direct 
ness  and  composure,  and  met  his  advances  un 
affectedly  and  with  no  loss  of  time. 

"  A  catastrophe  less  serious,  perhaps,  for  me, 
sir,  than  for  you.  For  I  am  now  engaged  in  correct 
ing  the  defects  of  my  early  training  —  I  am  sys 
tematically  combating  the  idea  of  the  importance 
of  time.  There  is  another  wagon  bridge  five 
miles  above,  I  learn ;  but  I  shall  be  in  no  haste 
to  take  it." 

"You  are  traveling  as  I  should  have  liked  to 
travel,"  sighed  the  Freiherr. 

"  You  pass  the  night  here,  then  ?  "  asked  Bruno, 
emboldened  on  his  part,  too,  by  a  consciousness  of 
having  seen  the  lady's  face  before. 

"  Yes.  My  courier  and  my  maids  are  now  in 
side,"  —  she  waved  her  hand  backward  toward 
the  opposite  window  and  the  inn  door,  —  "  trying 
to  arrange  accommodations  for  me." 

"  Your  courier  ?  "  repeated  von  Kaltenau,  in 
voluntarily. 

"  Yes.  Despite  the  fact  that  we  seem  —  and 
indeed,  are  —  a  large  party,  I  have  the  company 
of  no  men  save  those  whose  services  are  paid  for. 
When  I  travel,  I  leave  my  male  relatives  at  home 
—  it  is  the  custom  of  my  country." 

"  Ah !  "  murmured  Bruno. 

"  I  suppose,"  the  lady  went  on,  "  that,  in  your 
eyes,  I  may  seem  somewhat  detached.  Yet  I  am 
not  altogether  without  domestic  ties :  I  have  a 
husband  and  three  grown  sons." 


42  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  And  they,"  inquired  the  Freiherr,  "  they  are 
at"  — 

"  Yes,  they  are  at  home,  following  their  respec 
tive  industries,  while  their  wife  and  mother  pur 
sues  her  travels  abroad,  with  the  aim  of  a  general 
expanding  and  uplifting.  Incidentally,  I  explain 
the  customs  of  my  country  and  expatiate  upon  the 
peculiarities  of  the  national  temperament." 

"  Most  interesting,  most  unusual !  "  murmured 
Bruno. 

"  But  you  are  standing.  Pray  sit  on  my  car 
riage-step  —  one  of  you,  at  least.  The  other  shall 
have  a  chair.  Pietro !  Cesare !  will  nobody  "  — 

"  Never  mind,  madam,"  said  Bruno,  motioning 
von  Kaltenau  toward  the  step ;  "  I  can  stand  with 
perfect  ease." 

The  lady  scrutinized  the  two  young  men  care 
fully.  "  I  am  sure  you  do  not  understand  me 
even  yet,"  she  said.  "  But  you  shall.  Drive 
some  of  these  annoying  country-folk  away,  and 
then,  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  the  hours,  I  will 
relate  to  you  the  story  of  my  life." 

"  That  will  be  charming  indeed,"  declared  the 
Freiherr. 

The  crowd  now  thinned,  and  the  occupant  of 
the  coach,  abating  no  jot  in  her  majestic  port,  be 
gan  her  recital. 


IN  PURSUIT  43 


ni 

"I  am  a  Lady  of  Quality. 

"  Though  born  in  a  remote  and  unimportant 
quarter  of  the  globe,  I  was  conscious  of  my  quality 
almost  from  the  start  —  I  enjoyed  an  intuitive 
sense  of  it. 

"  The  town  where  I  first  saw  the  light  of  day 
was  very  new  and  very  small,  and  not,  from  any 
point  of  view,  particularly  choice.  The  popula 
tion,  almost  exclusively  male,  had  its  peculiarities. 
Most  of  the  men  wore  their  trousers  in  their  boots 
and  carried  their  pistols  in  their  trousers.  Others 
wore  feathers  in  their  hair,  and  others  still  wore 
their  hair  itself  in  queues." 

44  Delightful !  "  interjected  the  Freiherr. 

"  I  will  waste  no  further  words  upon  my  native 
town,"  pursued  the  Lady  of  Quality.  44 1  soon 
came  to  feel  it  no  place  for  such  as  I,  and  at 
seventeen  I  left  it  never  to  return. 

"I  set  my  face  eastward,  and  having  traversed 
an  interval  of  many  hundred  miles,  I  reached  a 
town  that  represented  the  best  I  then  knew,  and 
realized  the  highest  ideals  I  had  been  able,  thus 
far,  to  form.  But  I  soon  exhausted  the  educa 
tional  and  social  possibilities  of  this  frontier  com 
munity,  —  it  was  really  little  more,  —  and  moved 
on,  still  eastward,  to  a  vast  city  built  in  a  swamp 
and  composed  of  many  towering  steel  cages.  Here 
I  married  ;  here  worldly  prosperity  first  overtook 


44  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

me,  and  here  I  came  to  feel  still  more  strongly  the 
stirring  of  ambition  for  better  things,  —  an  ambi 
tion  that  has  ever  been  my  propelling  power,  and 
has,  indeed,  brought  me  where  you  meet  me  to 
day. 

"  As  I  say,  we  prospered  there ;  we  came  to  own 
two  or  three  of  the  steel  cages,  and  own  them  yet. 
But  mere  material  success  was  not  enough  —  there 
are  other  needs  that  one  must  meet  and  other  am 
bitions  that  one  must  gratify.  Your  seat  is  com 
fortable  ?  "  —  to  the  Freiherr. 

"  Perfectly,"  he  responded.     "  Pray  proceed." 

"Kumors  reached  me  of  another  city,  larger 
and  grander  still,  that  rose  a  thousand  miles  east 
ward  upon  the  borders  of  the  sea,  —  a  city  where 
social  eminence  were  worth  its  cost  indeed!  I 
journeyed  to  that  city  and  took  my  family  with 
me.  They  are  there  now." 

"  The  husband  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"  And  the  three  sons  ?  " 

"  Two  of  them.     The  third  "  — 

"The  third?" 

"  He  has  gone  back  to  my  birthplace  "  — 

"  Ah,  filial  devotion !  " 

—  "  which  is  now  quite  other  than  it  was  "  — 
"  C'est  dommage !  " 

—  "  and  there  he  is  sole  owner  of  a  mountain 
of  gold"  — 

"Ah,  ciel!" 

—  "  which  will  soon  enable  his  wife  to  live  as  I 


IN  PURSUIT  45 

am  living  now.  But  let  me  move  on  with  my 
narrative.  My  eyes  had  been  turned  eastward 
so  long  that  I  found  it  impossible  to  turn  them  in 
any  other  direction.  But,  in  truth,  many  of  the 
eyes  in  this  city  by  the  sea  had  the  same  slant. 
We  all  looked  eastward  together.  We  looked 
across  the  sea  toward  the  capital  of  a  great  em 
pire,  where  an  aristocracy  and  a  court  were  in  full 
operation,  and  where,  as  it  was  said,  a  warm  wel 
come  awaited  those  from  my  quarter  of  the  world. 
It  was  but  a  matter  of  five  days  upon  a  very  com 
fortable  ship,  and  I  took  the  journey." 

"  Alone  ?     Without  your  family  ?  " 

"  Without  my  family.  I  was  outgrowing  them 
and  felt  that  a  separation  must  come  sooner  or 
later.  It  came  just  here.  Do  you  know  London  ?  " 

"  Alas,  no,"  replied  the  Freiherr. 

"  You  have  lost  less  than  you  imagine.  I  found 
the  aristocracy  in  trade.  Some  of  them  sold  wines  ; 
others  of  them  made  bonnets.  Half  of  the  boxes 
at  the  opera  were  owned  by  Hebrew  bankers  and 
Australian  sheep-breeders,  and  South  African  dia 
mond-miners,  and  wealthy  compatriots  of  my  own. 
I  was  far  from  pleased.  I  saw  that  London  would 
not  do." 

"  A  most  shocking  situation,"  observed  Bruno. 

"  I  heard  of  Vienna,  where  a  real  and  exclusive 
aristocracy  was  said  still  to  exist.  I  packed  my 
boxes  and  —  I  am  not  wearying  you  ?  " 

"  Please  go  on,"  begged  the  Freiherr ;  "  we  have 
all  the  time  in  the  world." 


46  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  I  found  Vienna  much  better.  Sixteen  quar- 
terings  were  none  too  many,  and  access  to  court 
depended  upon  something  more  than  the  com 
plaisance  of  a  weak-kneed  ambassador." 

"  Thank  you,"  said  the  Freiherr  von  Kaltenau, 
impressively.  "  Your  observation  is  very  just." 

"  I  found  the  Viennese  nobility,"  she  went  on 
carefully,  "  exclusive  enough  in  point  of  character, 
but  not  remote  enough  in  point  of  origin.  When 
they  told  me  of  Rome,  with  families  going  back  to 
the  earliest  Consuls,  I  felt  that  I  must  make  one 
more  move.  It  is  with  society  just  as  it  is  with 
banks  and  beliefs  and  beverages  —  the  best  is 
none  too  good." 

«  True." 

"  Rome  received  me,  and  satisfied  me.  I  think 
the  most  magnificent  entertainment  I  ever  attended 
in  my  life  "  — 

"  Madam  !  "  cried  the  two  men  together. 

"  Gentlemen !  "  cried  the  lady  in  return. 

"  We  saw  you  there !  " 

"  And  I  saw  both  of  you  !  " 

"  You  wore  a  petticoat  of  quilted  blue  satin !  " 
cried  Bruno,  glad  to  appease  his  heart-hunger  by 
reverting  to  the  ball  where  he  had  first  seen  Donna 
Violante. 

"  And  carried  a  gilded  crook  tied  with  a  blue 
satin  ribbon,"  contributed  the  Freiherr. 

"  And  wore  a  diamond  necklace  of  many  strands 
upon  "  — 

"  You  remember  me,  indeed.     Yes,  I  appeared 


IN  PURSUIT  47 

as  a  mere  shepherdess  —  and  pray  why  should  not 
the  great  be  simple?  What  could  be  more  simple, 
more  primitive,  I  might  say,  than  my  present  mode 
of  travel  ?  What  value  has  time  ?  What  charm 
has  pomp  ?  I  am  resolved  to  reconquer  leisure 
and  simplicity  together." 

"  But  Rome,"  the  Freiherr  reminded  her. 

"  The  rage  for  perfection  came  upon  me ;  the 
momentum  gathered  by  long-continued  motion  was 
too  strong  to  be  withstood.  Word  came  to  me  of 
some  Sicilian  city  where  a  strain  older  than  that 
of  the  oldest  Roman  blood  yet  lingered ;  a  city 
whose  palaces  reflect  the  immemorial  East  upon 
their  fronts  and  even  in  their  names ;  a  city  that 
mingles  with  the  strain  of  the  primeval  and  mys 
terious  Orient  the  blood  of  the  Norman  race  that 
has  imposed  itself  as  an  aristocracy  upon  every 
people  with  which  it  has  come  in  contact.  This 
city  is  my  goal.  There  I  shall  be  satisfied  at  last. 
Time  is  flying,  the  years  are  accumulating  upon 
me,  the  sea  begins  to  set  its  limitations,  the  range 
over  which  a  lone  woman  may  pursue  her  solitary 
way  with  safety  has  been  almost  covered;  and 
within  this  city,  if  anywhere,  my  ambitions  must 
be  appeased.  For  me,"  she  ended,  with  a  tone  of 
blended  hope  and  fear,  "  it  is  the  Last  Refuge." 

The  two  young  men  bowed  gravely  in  response 
to  this  gallant  peroration,  and  the  Freiherr  recalled 
the  nebulous  ideals  and  ambitions  of  the  grave 
doctor  of  laws  whom  he  had  encountered  upon  his 
first  and  last  incursion  into  Roman  society. 


48  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Ah,  madam,"  he  said,  "  your  hopes,  too,  turn 
upon  the  Sicilians.  Then  there  is  one  here,"  he 
continued,  gathering  Bruno's  elbow  into  his  curved 
palm,  "  whom  you  must  know  better.  For  this 
young  man  is  going  to  meet  the  Sicilian  aristo 
cracy  and  to  claim  a  dukedom  among  them." 

The  lady  stared  at  Bruno  and  her  lips  moved, 
but  no  word  came.  She  rose  from  her  seat,  and 
the  Freiherr,  guessing  her  wish  to  descend,  moved 
from  his  place.  The  lady  got  out  and  looked  at 
Bruno  once  more,  but  still  in  silence.  Then  she 
murmured,  "Oh,  sir  —  sir"  —  but  could  go  no 
further.  Then  she  caught  her  skirts  up  in  both 
hands  and  made  him  a  stately  courtesy  in  the  dust 
of  the  road. 

IV 

An  acquaintance  so  formed  could  not  but  con 
tinue  ;  in  the  evening  the  Lady  of  Quality  accom 
panied  Bruno  and  the  Freiherr  to  the  opera.  She 
announced  shyly,  on  the  way  to  the  theatre,  that 
she  was  expecting  to  meet  in  Sicily  a  niece  who 
had  married  there  into  the  nobility  —  or,  no,  not 
a  niece  (though  the  girl  had  always  called  her 
aunt),  but,  rather,  the  daughter  of  one  of  her 
oldest  friends.  This  established  a  still  closer  rap 
prochement  and  did  much  to  add  to  the  general 
good  feeling  all  round. 

The  theatre  was  a  compact  little  place,  done  in 
blue  and  gold.  It  was  opened  to-night  for  the 
first  time  and  seemed  just  come,  not  so  much  from 


IN  PURSUIT  49 

the  hands  of  the  builders  as  from  the  brain  of  the 
architect.  Some  fifty  boxes  were  disposed  in  three 
tiers ;  and  at  the  proper  moment  a  lustre  set  with 
hundreds  of  lighted  candles  was  lowered  from  the 
dome  in  the  ceiling  and  made  a  sensation.  The 
provincial  nobility  had  rallied  in  a  body,  attired 
as  seemed  fitting  in  their  eyes,  and  four  or  five 
sub-officers,  from  some  minor  garrison  town  near 
by,  came  to  embellish  the  pit. 

Our  three  amateurs  secured  a  box  (the  last  left) 
in  the  middle  tier,  well  round  toward  the  stage, 
and  spent  a  spare  five  minutes  in  a  survey  of  the 
house  and  of  the  gathering  orchestra.  The  "  pro 
fessors"  included  a  bullet  -  headed  little  boy  of 
fourteen,  who  was  presently  to  work  wonders  on 
the  'cello ;  and  a  young  girl  but  little  older,  with 
her  brown  hair  hanging  down  her  back,  sat  at  the 
same  violin-desk  with  her  grandfather,  and  moved 
her  bow  in  unison  with  his. 

The  chorus,  when  it  came,  presented  equal  points 
of  interest.  A  dozen  lusty  young  fellows  made 
the  place  ring,  with  no  apparent  exertion,  and  the 
ladies  of  the  Venetian  aristocracy  were  imperson 
ated  by  nine  stout,  rosy-cheeked  young  country 
wenches,  who  stood  stolidly  in  one  stiff,  straight 
row  and  sang  in  an  unshaded  fortissimo  through 
out. 

The  Lady  of  Quality,  after  a  cursory  survey  of 
the  boxes,  determined  to  subordinate  the  social 
interest  to  the  human.  She  seemed  prepared  to 
meet  the  crudity  of  things  half  way,  and  to  be 


50  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

willing  to  enjoy  the  performers  as  human  beings, 
if  not  as  artists. 

The  tenor,  a  plump  and  gentlemanly  man  of 
thirty,  freshly  shaved  and  pomaded,  was  the  first 
of  the  principals  to  ask  the  favor  of  the  house.  It 
was  easily  seen  that  he  had  spent  some  hesitating 
years  in  the  ranks  of  the  amateurs ;  he  felt  his 
way  carefully  through  his  number,  and  did  neither 
well  nor  ill.  But  a  single  false  note  near  the  end 
gave  his  enemies  their  chance,  and  three  or  four 
voices  in  different  parts  of  the  house  mimicked  it 
at  once. 

Young  Bruno  was  instantly  angry.  He  had  a 
gallant  sense  of  fair  play,  and  was  for  springing 
to  his  feet  and  letting  the  cowards  know  what  he 
thought  of  them.  This  impulsive  act  charmed  the 
Freiherr,  who  himself  was  far  beyond  all  capacity 
for  indignation,  and  indeed  considered  that  fact  to 
be  the  gravest  symptom  of  his  case.  He  restrained 
the  young  fellow,  reminding  him  that  they  were 
now  nearing  the  irrepressible  South,  where  to  feel 
and  to  utter  were  one,  and  hoping,  privately,  that 
this  reason  might  be  sufficient  to  excuse  the 
cruelty. 

Bruno  docilely  accepted  the  Freiherr's  philoso 
phizing,  and  grew  calm  ;  but  he  still  kept  a  stern 
eye  upon  a  dark  young  man  of  twenty-eight  or 
thirty  who  lounged  in  the  first  row  of  the  posti 
distinti,  and  whose  every  action  seemed  to  proclaim 
him  the  disgruntled  subscriber.  He  was  addition 
ally  conspicuous  from  being  the  only  man  in  the 


IN  PURSUIT  51 

house  who  wore  evening  dress,  and  his  audible 
observations  had  already  begun  to  accompany  the 
performance  like  a  kind  of  burden.  His  burden 
changed  —  and  for  the  better  —  upon  the  entrance 
of  the  elder  Foscari,  and  the  threatened  hostilities 
were  deferred.  But  he  still  scowled,  now  and  then, 
at  the  Freiherr's  party,  as  if  inflamed  by  some 
special  grievance  —  and,  indeed,  von  Kaltenau  had 
cut  in  and  deprived  him  of  the  last  available  box. 

The  elder  Foscari  came  on,  of  course,  in  the  full 
regalia  of  the  doge.  But  neither  his  white  beard 
nor  the  voluminous  garments  of  crimson  velvet  and 
—  ermine  ?  —  yes,  ermine,  that  draped  his  tall 
figure,  could  disguise  the  fact  that  he  was  several 
years  younger  than  his  son,  though  infinitely  more 
experienced  on  the  stage  ;  and  his  heavy  voice,  too, 
when  he  came  to  sing,  was  full  of  the  raw  fervor 
of  youth.  But  he  found  favor  in  the  eyes  of  the 
exacting  amateur  in  the  front  row,  who  hummed 
snatches  of  his  air  quite  audibly  —  a  little  freedom 
that  came  to  be  rather  general  as  the  evening  wore 
on,  and  as  the  house  entered  more  deeply  into  the 
spirit  of  the  occasion. 

Bruno  let  him  hum  ;  the  truce  remained  un 
broken.  For  the  costume  of  the  basso  had  sent 
the  young  man's  thoughts  back  to  Rome.  This 
doge  made  him  think  of  the  other  doges  at  that 
ball,  and  the  ball  made  him  think  of  Donna  Vio- 
lante,  and  Donna  Yiolante  made  him  think  of 
Naples,  and  Naples  recalled  the  broken  bridge 
and  the  delayed  journey,  and  — 


62  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

But  the  entrance  of  the  soprano  was  a  call  to 
arms ;  Bruno  was  to  break  a  lance  in  her  behalf. 
For  the  important  patron  in  the  front  row  lost  all 
self-control  upon  the  appearance  of  the  prima 
donna.  The  rivalries  and  dissatisfactions  and 
heart-burnings  of  opposing  factions  came  crop 
ping  out.  The  local  Maecenas  —  so  our  friends 
called  him,  though  he  was  by  no  means  without 
the  metropolitan  air  —  twisted  about  in  his  place 
and  openly  vented  groans  and  even  observations 
more  articulate.  Bruno  sprang  to  the  front  of  his 
box  to  protest  and  to  reply,  and  the  aria  went  on 
during  an  animated  colloquy  between  the  two 
champions  on  the  propriety  of  the  selection  of 
such  an  opera,  on  the  quality  of  the  execution, 
and  on  the  treatment  due  an  artist  and  a  woman. 
The  house  in  general  sat  passive ;  such  tilts  were 
to  be  taken  as  a  matter  of  course. 

But  the  soprano  really  needed  no  champion. 
She  was  strong  enough  to  stand  alone  —  a  veri 
table  tower  of  strength.  Ignoring  all  interrup 
tions,  she  stood  beside  the  prompter's  box  and 
opened  her  big  wide  throat  and  threw  out  her  big 
coarse  arms,  and  set  her  foot  upon  the  house.  She 
ignored  the  prompter,  too.  With  his  hands  flap 
ping  to  either  side  of  his  shell,  and  his  voice  audi 
ble  to  half  the  audience,  he  kept  a  full  bar  ahead 
of  the  text,  and  was  never  once  overtaken  during 
the  evening.  But  the  woman  soon  made  it  plain 
that  she,  the  "prima  donna  napoletana,"  she,  and 
none  other,  was  the  prop  and  mainstay  of  the  per- 


IN  PURSUIT  53 

formance.  She  went  through  her  part  with  the 
remorseless  and  resistless  competence  of  a  buzz- 
saw  going  through  a  log  of  wood,  —  this  was  the 
Freiherr's  comparison,  drawn  from  his  Tyrolean 
forests,  —  and  she  carried  the  whole  troupe  with 
her.  Before  the  end  of  the  first  act  she  was  an 
enthroned  favorite,  and  her  chief  antagonist  was 
silenced.  She  rallied  the  orchestra ;  she  steadied 
the  male  chorus  —  not  the  female,  which  stood  like 
the  pillars  at  Pa3stum ;  and  it  became  apparent 
that  the  "  furore  "  all  so  ardently  desired  might 
easily  come  to  pass. 

In  the  second  act  a  new  group  of  characters 
was  introduced.  This  consisted  of  a  heavy  table 
of  antique  oak  and  two  attendant  gothic  chairs. 
They  persisted  through  several  scenes,  indoor  and 
out ;  they  figured  in  the  Ducal  palace,  and  in  the 
square  before  it,  and  were  finally  removed  from 
the  cast  and  the  stage  only  by  force  majeure  in 
the  persons  of  two  self-conscious  young  fellows  in 
green  plush  knee-breeches  and  white  cotton  stock 
ings.  The  scenery,  too,  had  shown  some  uncer 
tainty  —  sylvan  side  scenes  obtruding  into  gothic 
interiors,  and  the  like ;  and  it  seemed  merely  a 
question  of  time  w^hen  some  faux  pas  greater  than 
any  other  should  bring  the  action  to  the  verge  of 
the  ridiculous. 

This  happened  at  the  end  of  the  second  act, 
when  the  halls  of  the  Foscari  were  just  about  to 
witness  the  separation  of  the  young  husband  and 
wife,  and  poor  Jacopo's  going  to  prison.  The 


54  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

furore  was  gathering  headway ;  the  girl  and  her 
grandfather  were  playing  with  the  combined  pas 
sion  of  age  and  of  youth ;  the  bullet-headed  little 
boy  was  shifting  his  fingers  quickly  up  and  down 
the  neck  of  his  'cello  ;  the  twenty  members  of  the 
Venetian  aristocracy  were  singing  loudly  against 
each  other  in  two  opposing  rows  ;  the  soprano  had 
just  retired  up  with  the  idea  of  falling  into  the 
arms  of  a  pair  of  ladies  of  honor — two  of  the 
stolid  nine ;  the  tenor  had  just  come  down  to  the 
footlights,  with  the  idea  of  launching  his  last  high 
notes  at  the  lustre  beneath  the  dome  ;  and  the  fall 
of  the  curtain  was  imminent  and  obligatory ;  when 
all  at  once  a  flimsy  drop,  rudely  caricaturing  a 
well-known  Venetian  scene,  came  rustling  down  to 
anticipate  the  separation.  The  young  wife  swooned 
—  behind  the  scenes  —  in  the  great  hall  of  the 
Palazzo  Foscari;  while  the  young  husband,  far 
from  being  carried  off  to  prison,  found  himself 
free  and  more  or  less  alone  in  the  Piazzetta,  "  fra 
Marco  e  Todaro." 

The  house  might  have  laughed,  but  did  not. 
The  furore  must  and  should  ensue.  The  pit  rose, 
the  boxes  acclaimed ;  the  round-headed  little  'cel 
list  was  seen  to  wipe  his  forehead,  well  pleased. 
The  artists  appeared  and  disappeared,  and  amidst 
the  rising  and  falling  of  applause  this  question 
began  to  dawn,  —  Shall  there  be  a  repetition  ? 
Some  said  yes ;  others  said  no ;  for  a  powerful 
disaffected  minority,  that  had  favored  another 
opera  and  other  singers,  still  had  much  to  forgive. 


IN  PURSUIT  55 

One  faction  cried,  "  Bis  !  "  Another  cried 
"  Basta !  "  Finally  the  solicitous  impresario  ap 
peared  to  learn,  if  possible,  the  pleasure  of  the 
house.  The  influential  amateur  of  the  front  row 
sprang  to  his  feet  and  waved  his  arms  and  objur 
gated  the  quality  of  the  singing  and  ridiculed  the 
clumsiness  of  the  stage  management.  Bruno  de' 
Brunelli,  no  whit  abashed,  leaned  far  out  of  his 
box,  crying  "  Bravo  !  "  incessantly,  with  his  reso 
nant  young  voice,  and  rallying  the  boxes  against 
the  opposite  faction,  whose  stronghold  seemed  to 
be  on  the  lower  floor.  The  sudden  and  cruel  sepa 
ration  of  those  two  young  people  had  touched  a 
tender  chord,  and  he  was  resolved  that  if  separated 
they  must  be,  their  separation  should  take  place 
once  more,  with  the  element  of  the  ridiculous  elim 
inated.  The  Lady  of  Quality  supported  him 
bravely.  She  shone  forth  in  full  human  ness  ; 
mere  gentility  slipped  from  her  as  a  garment.  She 
clapped  her  plump  hands,  and  waved  her  plump 
arms,  and  cried  "  Bravo  !  "  or  "  Brava  !  "  every 
other  second.  The  manager  stood  beside  the 
prompter's  box,  puzzled,  undecided.  .  .  . 


"  We  shall  meet  again,  I  trust,"  said  the  Frei- 
herr. 

"I  shall  hope  to  overtake  you,"  replied  the 
Lady  of  Quality,  as  the  two  handed  her  into  her 
coach,  next  morning. 


56  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  It  was  a  gallant  struggle !  "  cried  the  Freiherr, 
with  an  admiring  glance  at  Bruno. 

"  It  was  indeed !  "  acquiesced  the  lady,  giving 
Bruno  a  like  look  through  the  coach  window.  "  If 
ever  I  need  a  champion,  young  sir,  may  he  be  such 
a  one  as  you !  " 

"  That  fellow !  "  cried  the  young  man  tossing 
his  head,  —  "  with  those  shifty  eyes  and  that  of 
fensive  black  tuft  under  his  moustache !  I  should 
like  to  meet  him  again,  somewhere  !  "  —  a  desire 
that  was  to  be  realized,  and  more  than  once. 

Noon  found  our  two  friends  at  Naples,  and  the 
quest  that  had  been  interrupted  in  the  Corso  was 
resumed  on  the  Chiaja.  Blue  Capri  shimmered 
mistily  through  the  trees  of  the  Villa  Nazionale, 
Vesuvius  smoked  away  in  its  easy-going  fashion, 
hope  shone  again  in  young  Bruno's  eye,  and  the 
abundant  and  irresponsible  sunlight  poured  itself 
over  the  alluring  lineaments  of  the  Mother  of 
Corruptions. 

"Nothing  in  the  world  is  more  beautiful!"  ex 
claimed  Bruno.  The  Freiherr  knew  why  it  seemed 
so  beautiful,  and  knew,  too,  why  his  young  friend 
had  found  it  so  easy  to  feel  and  to  disclose  the 
beauty  of  Rome :  she  was  here,  as  she  had  been 
there. 

They  advanced  to  the  drive  along  the  sea  wall. 
The  middle  of  the  afternoon  had  come,  and  the 
first  of  the  afternoon's  carriages  had  already  ap 
peared. 

"  We  will  take  our  stand  here,"  said  Bruno ; 


IN  PURSUIT  57 

"  all  Naples  will  be  passing  before  us  within  the 
hour.  If  I  do  not  see  her  here,  I  shall  find  means 
to  see  her  elsewhere,"  he  declared  firmly. 

A  few  feet  from  them,  two  men  stood  together, 
and  yet  apart,  listening  to  the  slow  slapping  of 
the  waves  against  the  front  of  the  sea  wall,  and 
idle  but  for  that.  In  age  they  seemed  to  be  mid 
way  between  von  Kaltenau  and  his  companion, 
and  their  aspect  was  that  of  two  alien  birds  of 
passage,  pausing  for  a  moment  in  the  course  of  an 
extended  flight. 

"I  see,"  said  the  Freiherr,  accosting  them 
without  any  affectation  of  formality,  —  for  under 
Bruno's  tutelage  his  interest  in  his  kind  was  re 
viving,  —  "  that  you,  like  ourselves,  are  strangers 
here  and  perhaps,  like  us,  but  just  arrived." 

"  Precisely,"  replied  the  slighter  of  the  two, 
with  a  ready  vivacity.  He  flipped  his  hand  across 
his  yellow  moustache  with  a  carefully  careless  ges 
ture,  and  made  his  blue  eyes  shine  a  willingness 
for  further  conversational  commerce. 

"  We  come  from  Rome,"  said  the  Freiherr. 

"  And  we,"  rejoined  the  other,  "  come  from 
much  further  north  than  Rome.  Look  at  us  and 
think  of  the  gulf  of  Bothnia." 

"  And  you  mean,  perhaps,"  ventured  Bruno, 
addressing  the  fourth  member  of  the  group,  "  to 
go  much  further  south  than  Naples  ?  " 

This  person  composed  his  uncouth  features  to 
a  look  by  no  means  unfriendly,  but  made  no  de 
finite  response.  His  large  hands  writhed  together 


58  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

with  some  sense  of  mutual  discomfort,  and  his 
whole  rugged  presence  conveyed  indications  of  an 
ethnological  remoteness  that  spread  almost  to  the 
pole.  Though  one  of  the  pair  was  sprightly  and 
the  other  heavy,  though  one  was  loquacious  and 
the  other  taciturn,  there  was  that  in  each  which 
proclaimed  that  neither  temperament  was  in  the 
present  enjoyment  of  satisfaction. 

"  Further  south  ?  "  repeated  the  first  of  the  pair. 
"  Precisely  so.  We  are  on  the  way  to  Sicily." 

"Naples,  then,"  hazarded  the  Freiherr,  "does 
not  give  you  what  you  seek." 

"  Naples  offers  a  great  deal,  but  has  not  satis 
fied  our  needs.  We  have  heard  of  a  city  to  the 
south  that  is  even  more  beautiful  than  this  —  a 
spot  where  nature  is  quite  as  gracious  and  man 
not  quite  so  vile.  We  seek  the  free  expansion  of 
full  meridional  passion  in  its  most  favorable  mani 
festations." 

"Explain  yourself,"  said  his  companion,  seri 
ously.  "  We  shall  be  misunderstood." 

"  I  have  no  desire  to  do  you  any  injustice,"  the 
Freiherr  hastened  to  say. 

"  Let  me  make  plain  to  you  the  difficulties  of 
our  situation,"  said  he  of  the  blue  eyes  and  blonde 
beard.  His  tone  claimed  a  certain  period  to  be 
devoted  to  exposition,  and  his  eye  seemed  to  rove 
about  in  search  of  a  bench. 

"  Over  there,  by  the  palm-tree,"  suggested  the 
Freiherr.  They  led  the  way  across  the  carriage- 
drive,  and  the  other  two  followed. 


IN  PURSUIT  59 

"My  friend  and  I,"  the  spokesman  began,  as 
the  party  took  places  on  the  bench,  "  find  our 
bond  of  association  in  our  very  deficiencies,  —  our 
respective  deficiencies,  you  understand.  While  we 
are  both  artists  "  — 

Bruno  looked  at  the  fourth  man  in  some  sur 
prise.  "  I  need  to  be  explained,  I  know,"  the  un 
couth  creature  acknowledged,  with  a  gentle  shyness. 

"  Yes,  we  are  both  artists,"  the  other  repeated ; 
"  each  in  his  own  way.  One  of  us  "  —  he  touched 
his  own  breast  —  "  is  an  artist  in  actuality ;  the 
other,"  —  with  a  gesture  toward  his  companion, 
—  "  only  in  desire.  I  am  an  artist  in  fact ;  my 
friend  is  one  but  in  theory.  I  am  a  painter  ;  he 
is  a  poet  —  in  all  save  the  faculty  of  expression." 

"  A  pitiable  deficiency,"  commented  the  Frei- 
herr. 

"  I  have  never  felt  it  more  than  here,"  said  the 
shaggy  person  from  the  far  North,  as  he  embroiled 
his  hands  with  each  other  once  more  and  sent  his 
helpless  gaze  roving  over  the  beauties  that  encom 
passed  them.  "  In  truth,  I  was  born  under  an 
evil  star.  I  have  never  been  able  —  this  is  my 
whole  difficulty  —  to  get  outside  of  myself." 

"  Ah,  to  be  born  with  a  soul  full  of  thoughts," 
his  friend  struck  in  quickly,  as  if  with  some  a3s- 
thetic  relish  for  such  a  plight,  "  and  yet  to  live 
inarticulate  !  Think  what  it  means  !  It  is  to  be 
a  sharp  sword  caught  tight  in  a  rusty  scabbard ! 
It  is  to  be  a  windmill  whose  arms  have  not  been 
unlocked  to  the  play  of  the  breeze !  It  is  to  be 


60  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

caught  living,  breathing,  sentient,  in  the  vise  of 
paralysis,  with  the  brain  tirelessly  active,  but  the 
tongue  thickened,  the  hand  incapable  of  motion !  " 

"  But  you,  I  am  sure,  were  not  born  under  the 
ban  of  silence,"  said  Bruno  ;  and  indeed  the  arms 
of  the  windmill  seemed  to  have  caught  the  breeze 
most  successfully. 

"No,"  was  the  answer,  with  a  fine  impersonal 
smile  that  showed  a  full  appreciation  of  the  sar 
casm.  "  No  ;  but  my  plight  is  fully  as  deplorable 
as  my  friend's,  though  just  the  opposite.  He  can 
not  get  outside  of  himself ;  I  cannot  get  inside  of 
myself !  "  The  speaker  paused,  with  a  look  that 
seemed  to  ask,  "  What  do  you  think  of  that, 
now?" 

"  Explain  yourself,"  said  the  Freiherr. 

"  Willingly.  As  I  have  said,  I  am  an  artist  — 
one  of  some  reputation,  too.  But  everything  I 
have  done  has  been  quite  objective  —  always  from 
the  outside.  I  begin  to  fear  that  my  gift  is  a 
purely  physical  one  —  the  quick  eye,  the  sure 
hand.  For  I  have  never  got  into  myself,  nor  into 
my  subject.  Objectivity,  literalism,  simple  trans 
cription.  And  is  that  enough  ?  No.  We  are  in 
a  condition  of  mere  detachment,  my  work  and  I 
alike.  I  look  upon  myself  from  without,  as  upon 
another  being.  I  keep  an  impartial  hand  upon 
an  impersonal  pulse.  I  view  my  own  postures  — 
of  mind  or  of  body  —  as  I  might  view  those  of 
any  one  else  whomsoever.  Praise  of  me  or  blame 
of  me  is  no  more  to  me  than  if  bestowed  else- 


IN  PURSUIT  61 

where.  Even  sarcasm  "  —  with  a  sidelong  glance 
at  Bruno  —  "is  a  matter  of  pleasure  or  the  re 
verse  only  in  so  far  as  it  is  launched  with  point 
and  effect  or  no." 

"  I  am  sure  "  —  began  Bruno,  in  a  tone  of 
apology. 

"  What  results  ?  "  the  orator  proceeded,  rising 
from  the  bench  and  taking  up  something  of  an 
attitude  before  the  remaining  three.  "  I  am  in 
danger  of  being  pronounced  second-rate.  What 
must  I  do  ?  I  see  it  with  perfect  clearness  ;  —  I 
must  get  within.  The  steam  must  be  inside  the 
boiler,  the  gas  inside  the  balloon.  Does  the  beast 
operate  the  treadmill  by  standing  beside  it  ?  Can 
Samson  bring  down  the  house  without  getting  be 
neath  it?  Can  the"  — 

"  What  are  your  plans  ? "  asked  the  Freiherr, 
gently  but  decisively. 

"  We  are  in  search  of  a  fuller  and  freer  mani 
festation  of  life.  We  have  set  our  hopes  upon  the 
abandon  and  momentum  of  the  south.  There  is  a 
city  by  the  Sicilian  sea,  a  city  that  will  mark,  we 
hope  —  or  else  we  must  despair  —  the  utmost  term 
of  our  journey.  We  look  there  for  such  a  revela 
tion  of  beauty  and  such  a  dispensation  of  freedom 
as  shall  correct  all  our  temperamental  shortcom 
ings  and  free  us  from  our  respective  limitations. 
We  are  not  too  rich,  either  in  time  or  in  money ; 
we  have  left  our  families  and  friends  behind ;  we 
cannot  hope  for  an  indefinitely  continued  propul 
sion  toward  our  ideal.  This  city  must  satisfy  us, 


62  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

if  satisfaction  there  is  to  be.  We  approach  it  with 
as  much  of  dread  as  of  hope,  for  if  that  fails  all 
fails.  To  us  it  is  the  Last  Refuge." 

"  Yes,"  echoed  the  other,  solemnly,  "  it  is  the 
Last  Kefuge." 

VI 

The  poor  fellow  looked  out  with  pathetic  long 
ing  over  the  blue  sea  that  was  soon  to  bear  him  to 
his  ultimate  goal  and  that  yet  might  never  receive 
articulate  expression  of  his  delight  and  of  his 
gratitude.  Bruno,  no  longer  mindful  of  his  com 
panions,  began  to  send  a  roving  eye  after  the  mul 
tiplying  carriages.  The  intangible  predicament 
of  these  two  Hyperborean  pilgrims  was  trifling  in 
deed  when  confronted  by  his  own  baffled  desires. 
How  find  her?  Whither  fly  with  her?  While 
he  burned  with  thwarted  passion  they  might  thaw 
at  their  leisure. 

"  Nothing,  as  you  may  imagine,"  he  presently 
heard  the  blue-eyed  Northman  saying  to  the  Frei- 
herr,  "could  have  given  us  higher  hopes,  —  no 
thing  could  have  happened  to  make  us  surer  that 
we  were  upon  the  right  course  at  last.  She  came 
toward  us  rapidly,  half  walking,  half  running  — 
we  were  standing  not  twenty  yards  from  where  you 
first  saw  us.  She  was  the  most  glorious  young 
woman  —  though,  in  truth,  she  seemed  little  more 
than  a  girl  —  that  I  have  ever  seen.  Her  long 
black  hair  was  loosened  and  blew  about  in  the 
breeze.  Her  beautiful  dark  eyes  burned  with 


IN  PURSUIT  63 

what  seemed  like  indignation,  and  her  lips  and 
chin  —  a  chin  most  firmly  and  exquisitely  modelled 
—  quivered  with  a  passionate  grief.  '  O,  daughter 
of  the  South !  '  I  was  about  to  cry  —  but  could 
think  of  no  suitable  words  to  follow.  Her  car 
riage,  as  she  came  hastening  toward  the  water,  I 
have  never  seen  surpassed.  Agitated,  impassioned, 
frenzied  as  she  was,  she  neither  walked  nor  ran  — 
whatever  I  may  have  said  ;  she  glided  —  the  true 
advance  of  a  goddess.  Behind  her  "  — 

Bruno  turned  and  fixed  his  eye  upon  the 
speaker.  Could  there  be  two  women  who  walked 
like  that? 

"  Behind  her,  at  some  little  distance,  lagged  an 
old  crone,  scuffling,  panting,  and  crying  as  best 
she  might :  4  My  child  !  my  child  !  Stop,  stop ! 
What  rash  thing  would  you  do  ?  Stop,  if  you 
love  me ! '  It  was  a  rare  and  exquisite  contrast. 
The  situation  held  all  the  elements  of  a  perfectly 
practicable  picture.  It  was  merely  a  question  of 
drawing  these  elements  close  enough  together." 
He  collected  the  "  elements  "  by  an  inward  sweep 
of  his  two  supple  hands,  and  fixed  their  mass  and 
outline  upon  an  imaginary  canvas. 

"  What  was  the  girl  —  the  woman  meaning  to 
do?"  asked  Bruno,  disdaining  any  pause  over  a 
technician's  special  point  of  view. 

"  She  was  meaning  to  cast  herself  into  the  sea. 
She  moved  resolutely  toward  the  edge  of  the  quay 
and  stood  there  a  moment  with  extended  arms. 
The  background  was  perfect  —  three  shades  of 


64  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

blue:  the  deep  blue  of  the  water  —  the  waves 
were  tossing  just  enough  to  give  the  right  angle 
of  reflection  ;  the  light  blue  of  the  sky  —  a  shade 
or  two  lighter,  in  fact,  than  report  had  led  us  to 
anticipate  ;  and  the  soft  veiled  blue  of  the  Sorren- 
tine  mountains.  The  same  blues,  indeed,  that  you 
may  observe  for  yourselves  —  for  it  all  occurred 
less  than  half  an  hour  ago,  and  the  sun  has  moved 
but  little  since.  The  girl  herself  was  dressed  in 
blue  —  the  deep,  intense,  passionate  blue  that  is 
almost  black,  —  the  fathomless  blue  that  holds  in 
finite  depths  in  reserve,  —  the  blue  that  may  give 
itself,  and  give  and  give,  and  yet  remain  the  same 
blue  to  the  end.  It  was  a  simple  costume,  but 
worn  with  the  most  supreme  distinction.  The 
poor  child  was  evidently  as  high-placed  as  she  was 
unhappy." 

Bruno  started,  but  dared  not  trust  himself  to 
speak. 

"She  gave  a  plaintive  and  passionate  sob. 
4  Farewell,  Sicily  !  '  she  said." 

"  Sicily !  "  gasped  Bruno. 

"  '  Farewell,  Eome ! '  " 

"  Rome ! " 

" «  Farewell,  Illyria!'" 

"  Illyria !  "  Bruno  turned  white  as  a  ghost  and 
clutched  the  Freiherr's  arm  to  hold  himself  erect. 

"  Meanwhile  the  old  woman  was  scuffling  into 
the  picture  as  fast  as  she  might."  The  painter 
hurried  her  in  with  one  hand  and  secured  his 
horizon  by  wielding  an  imaginary  maulstick  with 


IN  PURSUIT  65 

the  other.  "  ;  My  child  ! '  she  cried  again  ;  *  for 
the  love  of  heaven  pause  where  you  are !  Vio- 
lante  !  Donna  Violante  ! '"  — 

"  What !  "  exclaimed  Bruno,  with  a  great  roar 
of  grief  and  rage,  as  he  sprang  forward  and 
gripped  the  other  by  the  throat.  "  And  you,  you 
coward,  you  futile  wretch,  you  let  her  die  before 
your  eyes ! " 

The  painter,  half  thrown  off  his  feet  by  this 
sudden  onslaught,  and  with  his  throat  still  in  the 
barbaric  grip  of  Bruno's  hands,  could  express  his 
astonishment  and  anger  only  by  a  wild  rolling  of 
the  eyes. 

"No,"  his  friend  answered  for  him,  in  a  voice 
whose  sympathetic  tremor  was  shared  by  all  the 
bulk  of  his  body.  "  We  saved  her.  We  entered 
the  picture,  too,  and  snatched  her  back  in  time." 

"  And  where  is  she  ?  Where  is  my  Violante  ?  " 
cried  Bruno.  But  the  unready  tongue  was  slow 
in  finding  a  possible  answer  to  this  impossible 
question.  "  Where  is  she  ?  Get  out  of  yourself 
now,  if  you  never  did  before !  Come  ;•  speak, 
speak !  " 

No  answer  being  forthcoming,  Bruno,  releas 
ing  the  painter's  throat,  bounded  forward  and 
threw  his  hungry  fingers  toward  the  poet's.  But 
the  hands  that  had  held  back  one  desperate  soul 
were  fully  equal  to  holding  down  another.  They 
took  a  firm  and  instant  grasp  upon  Bruno's  slender, 
sinewy  wrists,  and  a  pair  of  grave  and  comprehend 
ing  eyes  looked  out  from  a  grotesque  concatena- 


66  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

tion  of  features  with  a  calm  gaze  of  commiseration 
and  pardon. 

"  Forgive  me  !  "  cried  Bruno,  with  tears  in  his 
eyes.  "  Forgive  me  !  "  he  repeated,  turning  to 
ward  the  other,  who  was  trying  to  settle  his  de 
ranged  collar  and  to  compose  his  outraged  dignity. 
The  young  fellow  made  a  rapid  and  eloquent  re 
cital  of  his  experiences  and  his  hopes,  and  the  full 
sympathy  of  the  two  artists  quickly  cancelled  all 
sense  of  amaze  and  indignation. 

"  She  is  with  her  friends,"  said  the  painter,  giv 
ing  one  more  gulp.  "  We  freed  her  knees  from 
the  clasp  of  her  duenna's  arms  and  led  her  away 
across  the  garden.  She  dropped  her  head  upon 
my  shoulder  and  let  me  guide  her  steps.  Her 
hand,  her  exquisite  hand,  white,  slender,  supple, 
rested  in  mine.  She  shook  and  sobbed  and 
shivered.  '  Oh,  Bernard,  Bernard ! '  —  those  were 
the  only  words  she  said.  Or  was  it  '  Bertram  '  ? 
Or  possibly  «  Basil '  ?  "  — 

"  Nonsense  !  "  cried  the  Freiherr  ;  "  what  she 
said  was  :  '  Oh,  Bruno,  Bruno  ! ' 

"  Yes,  yes,"  acquiesced  the  painter,  after  a  sec 
ond's  thought.  "  What  she  said  was  '  Bruno,'  — 
to  be  sure." 

"  Are  you  sure  ?  "  demanded  Bruno,  hotly. 

"  /  am  sure,"  said  the  poet.  "  She  mentioned 
the  name  of  Bruno  and  none  other." 

"  We  found  a  carriage  waiting,"  proceeded  the 
painter.  "  The  footman  opened  the  door  and  stood 
ready  to  help  her  in.  'I  will  never  go  back  to 


IN  PURSUIT  67 

them,'  she  murmured  over  and  over  again.  But 
the  footman  and  the  duenna  assisted  her  to  enter, 
and"  — 

"  Where  did  they  drive  her  ?  "  demanded  Bruno, 
with  the  savage  glitter  returning  to  his  eye. 

"  How  can  we  know  ?  " 

"  /  shall  know  before  to-morrow  !  "  the  youth 
declared. 

The  painter  gave  his  cravat  a  final  adjustment. 
"  We  are  nearing  the  South,  indeed,"  he  mut 
tered. 

VII 

Theodor  von  Kaltenau  was  strolling  alone  along 
the  Strada  Nuova  of  Posilipo.  Naples  lay  below 
in  the  distance,  and  the  familiar  features  of  the 
Bay,  at  once  scaled  down  and  drawn  into  a  con 
cordant  entity  by  the  loftiness  of  his  point  of  view, 
assumed  a  sympathetic  aspect  that  qualified  their 
grandiose  theatricality  and  made  the  absence  of 
the  interpretive  Bruno  less  hard  to  bear. 

Bruno  was  still  below  in  the  labyrinthine  city, 
on  the  third  day  of  his  absorbing  quest.  The  Frei- 
herr,  who  had  accompanied  him  through  the  first 
two,  had  now  withdrawn,  considering  the  dues  of 
friendship  fairly  paid.  Together  they  had  roamed 
the  town  :  they  had  called  upon  all  the  bankers ; 
they  had  visited  all  the  hotels  ;  they  had  made 
their  requisition  upon  the  Questura,  where  the 
officials,  whatever  they  may  have  known,  gave  out 
no  definite  information. 


68  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

The  Freiherr  loitered  along  the  winding  high 
way.  On  one  hand,  the  divine  hill  of  Posilipo  rose 
to  still  greater  heights ;  on  the  other,  the  grilled 
gates  of  villa  after  villa  opened  to  him  glimpses  of 
rocky,  shrub-draped  gardens  rushing  precipitously 
to  the  sea. 

He  felt  Bruno's  absence.  Naples  lay  idealized, 
indeed,  by  virtue  of  mere  distance,  but  some 
hearty  young  organism  was  still  necessary  for  him 
if  he  were  to  digest  the  many  odious  peculiarities 
of  the  local  life  and  the  many  shameful  manifesta 
tions  of  the  local  character :  some  young  soul  so 
firmly  grounded  upon  idealism  as  to  regard  things 
ugly,  coarse,  and  vicious  not  as  the  rule  but  as  the 
exception  —  and  exceptional  still,  however  multi 
tudinous. 

He  recalled  their  parting  a  few  hours  before. 
He  felt  that  Bruno,  by  reason  of  a  certain  toss  of 
the  head  and  a  certain  trick  in  the  slight  corru 
gation  of  the  eyebrows,  had  shown  a  little  too 
plainly  the  arrogance  and  the  querulousness  of  the 
wilful  and  ungracious  boy.  "But  the  pace  he  has 
chosen  will  soon  enough  make  him  older,"  thought 
the  Freiherr,  indulgently.  For  the  rest,  the  boy's 
deportment  had  been  perfect.  Never  once  had  he 
treated  the  Freiherr  with  too  little  respect  —  or 
with  too  much.  "  He  has  never  made  me  feel  the 
gravity  of  the  middle  years;  nor,  on  the  other 
hand,  has  he  facetiously  treated  me  as  an  '  old 
boy.'  And  never  once  has  he  called  me  by  my 
Christian  name.  He  is  not  fulfilling  the  function 


IN  PURSUIT  69 

I  designed  him  to  fulfil ;  but  his  wanderings  from 
the  course  I  had  chosen  are  no  wider  than  his 
years  and  his  temperament  can  justify." 

Absorbed  in  his  own  reflections,  the  Freiherr 
moved  along,  half  conscious,  or  less,  of  his  sur 
roundings.  The  sea  shimmered,  but  not  for  him, 
and  the  embowered  entrances  to  successive  gar 
dens  shifted  by  unnoticed.  At  one  stage  he  saw, 
without  seeing,  a  young  face  that  looked  out  upon 
him,  over  the  tops  of  a  laurel  thicket,  from  a  high 
balcony  festooned  with  full-flowered  passion  vines. 
There  was  a  plaintive  sorrow  on  the  lips  and  a 
look  of  half  recognition  in  the  wide  eyes ;  and  a 
hand  was  impulsively  thrust  forth  upon  the  bal 
cony  rail,  as  if  a  voice  might  instantly  follow.  But 
the  Freiherr  saw  all  this  vaguely,  as  in  a  waking 
dream,  and  the  girlish  face  disappeared  and  the 
odorous  silence  remained  unbroken. 


VIII 

At  eleven  o'clock  that  same  evening,  Bruno 
burst  into  von  Kaltenau's  apartment. 

"  I  have  found  her  I  "  he  cried ;  "  I  have  seen 
her  ;  I  have  spoken  with  her  !  " 

"Found  her?     Where?" 

"  In  the  Galleria  Umberto.  I  had  been  on  my 
feet  all  day.  I  dropped  into  a  chair  before  one  of 
the  cafes  from  mere  exhaustion.  As  I  lifted  my 
vermouth  I  saw  her  —  at  a  table  not  three  yards 
away.  And  they  were  with  her  —  yes,  they  were 


70  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

with  her  ;  I  saw  their  backs  —  enough.  They  are 
always  with  her ;  she  is  watched,  shut  in,  never 
allowed  to  take  a  step  alone  "  — 

"  Shut  in  ?     The  gallery  is  reasonably  public.'* 

"  At  the  villa,  I  mean.  Yes,  I  looked  over  the 
top  of  my  glass  —  and  our  eyes  met.  She  started ; 
she  trembled ;  she  turned  as  white  as  a  sheet. 
They  stared  at  her  and  looked  round  to  learn  the 
cause;  I  turned  away  before  they  could  see  my 
face.  She  recovered  herself,  but  she  seemed  so 
wretched,  so  pitiable  !  Yet  there  was  something 
in  her  face  that  told  me  they  were  not  to  conquer 
her. 

"  I  followed  them  out.  I  had  a  word  with  her 
unnoticed.  I  told  her  that  I  —  knew.  She 
trembled  again  and  blushed  divinely.  I  told  her 
that  I  myself  had  a  will  —  the  equal  of  any  other 
two  —  and  that  it  was  to  prevail.  I  shall  see  her 
again  at  the  villa,  to-morrow." 

"  Once  more  the  villa.     What  villa  ?  " 

"  The  Villa  Speranza  — name  of  good  omen !  — 
on  Posilipo." 

"  On  Posilipo,"  repeated  the  Freiherr,  thought 
fully.  "  The  Villa  Speranza,  on  Posilipo.  Do  you 
know  how  to  find  it  ?  " 

"  I  shall  find  it  —  be  sure  of  that." 

"  Let  me  tell  you  how  you  will  know  it." 

"  What !  "  cried  Bruno,  sharply. 

"  There  are  two  stone  pines  on  either  side  of 
the  gateway  ;  there  is  a  laurel-thicket  just  within  ; 
there  is  a  balcony  hung  with  passion-flowers"  — 


IN  PURSUIT  71 

"  How  do  you  know  all  this  ? "  demanded 
Bruno. 

"  I  passed  the  villa  this  afternoon.  On  the 
balcony  was  Donna  Violante  herself,  and  "  — 

"  And  this  is  friendship  !  "  cried  Bruno,  spring 
ing  to  his  feet  and  quivering  with  indignation. 
"  You  knew  just  where  she  "  — 

"  Yes ;  and  tell  you  at  the  first  opportunity." 

"  Oh.  this  is  shameful,  this  is  outrageous  !  "  de 
clared  Bruno  in  sharp  and  vibrant  tone.  "  I  am 
being  made  ridiculous.  Always  forestalled  !  Al 
ways  anticipated !  The  lagging  lover,  always  so 
many  hours  or  so  many  minutes  behind  !  One 
man  saves  her  life,  another  discovers  her  retreat ; 
while  I  —  I  who  should  rightfully  "  — 

"  My  boy,  my  boy  !  "  groaned  the  Freiherr ; 
"  this  was  to  have  been  a  voyage  of  pleasure !  " 
Truly,  truly  the  operetta  at  Rome  had  been  all  too 
slight  a  test ! 

IX 

"  Come,"  said  the  Freiherr,  as  the  bells  of  the 
town  jangled  an  obstreperous  midnight ;  "  go  to 
your  room  and  get  to  bed." 

"  Do  you  think  I  can  sleep  ?  "  asked  Bruno, 
disdainfully. 

"  /  could,"  ventured  von  Kaltenau,  by  way  of 
experiment,  "  What  reply  shall  I  get  to  that  ?  " 
was  his  thought.  "  Will  he  reproach  me  with  my 
cooling  blood,  with  my  accumulating  years  ?  Will 
he  be  inconsiderate,  impertinent,  scornful,  cruel  ?  " 


72  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

But  Bruno  contented  himself  with  a  look  of 
uncomprehending  wonder,  that  was  worse  than  all 
the  rest  combined,  and  took  himself  away. 

Yet  not  to  sleep  —  as  well  he  had  foreseen. 
Scarcely  had  he  closed  his  eyes  before  Donna 
Violante  appeared.  She  wore  her  peplum  and 
her  coronet,  and  her  sandalled  feet  passed  in  a  slow 
and  stately  fashion  up  the  great  staircase  of  the 
Palazzo  Astrofiammante  —  just  as  when  he  saw  her 
for  the  first  time.  Her  hair  rippled  over  her  fore 
head,  as  at  the  ball  $  or,  as  on  the  Pincian,  it  rolled 
up  voluminously,  like  that  of  some  emperor's 
daughter  at  the  Capitol;  and  her  well-cut  nose 
might  have  been  attributed,  save  for  a  modern 
tampering  of  classical  severity,  to  the  same  lofty 
source.  She  repeated  her  progress  several  times, 
in  varying  manner:  sometimes  in  the  serene  un 
consciousness  of  ever-triumphant  divinity;  some 
times  in  studious,  condescending  search  of  a 
mere  mortal,  humble  but  deserving,  who  waited 
behind  the  coupled  columns  of  breccia  at  the  top. 
Sometimes  her  head  was  turned  this  way,  some 
times  that ;  if  the  latest  of  her  modes  seemed  suc 
cessful  it  was  repeated.  She  slid  her  exquisite 
hand  over  the  lustrous  surface  of  the  balustrade ; 
the  marble,  of  delicate,  blue -veined  cipollino, 
turned  dingy  upon  the  moment.  The  arm,  steal 
ing  forth  from  her  peplum's  hem,  showed  a  dim 
ple  in  the  elbow  whose  luminous  shadow  at  once 
lightened  and  darkened  everything  in  sight.  .  .  . 
The  stairway  altered ;  it  became  higher,  broader, 


IN  PURSUIT  73 

more  magnificent  —  it  was  the  stairway  that  filled 
the  heart  of  some  vast  and  distant  palace  of  ro 
mance.  Donna  Violante  climbed  on,  stepping, 
stepping,  yet  never  reaching  the  top,  and  one  was 
with  her  who  walked  by  her  side  and  made  her 
mistress  of  all  the  splendors  round  them  and  of 
all  the  servants  who  lined  the  ascent  on  either 
side.  The  servants  were  many,  too  many,  —  they 
were  in  the  way.  They  vanished  at  a  masterful 
wave  of  the  hand  and  left  their  betters  with  full 
freedom  to  express  their  joy  in  each  other  and 
their  pleasure  in  such  spacious  solitude  a  deux. 

Half  past  twelve  sounded.  Bruno  shifted  his 
head  to  the  other  pillow. 

The  stairway  seemed  willing  to  persist ;  but 
Bruno  imperiously  imposed  another  alteration, 
and  it  suddenly  resolved  itself  into  a  series  of 
rampes,  terraces,  niches,  and  the  two  were  climb 
ing  the  face  of  the  Pincian.  A  glorified  vegeta 
tion,  like  the  accentuated  efflorescences  of  some 
wondrous  botanical  garden,  clothed  the  front  of 
the  hill ;  and  after  they  had  reached  the  top  what 
lay  before  them  was  not  Rome,  but  the  whole 
world,  rather,  with  all  its  powers  and  principali 
ties,  all  its  promises  and  potentialities  —  the  world 
glorified,  transfigured,  reborn.  Donna  Violante 
placed  her  hand  —  that  same  exquisite  hand  ;  it 
never  changed  —  upon  the  balustrade  ;  but  it  was 
too  much  like  a  light  that,  held  close  before  the 
eyes,  hinders  rather  than  helps  one's  piercing  of 
the  darkness.  To  provide  the  proper  screen  for 


74  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

his  dazzled  sight  he  laid  his  own  brown  hand 
upon  it. 

He  held  it  there  while  he  told  her  what  he  had 
come  to  tell  and  she  had  come  to  hear.  He  said 
it  in  all  possible  fashions.  He  said  it  simply ;  he 
said  it  elaborately.  He  said  it  in  this  key  and 
that;  he  said  it  in  the  high  light  of  downright 
bold  passion,  and  he  said  it  in  the  lower  tones  of 
tender,  half -veiled  insinuation ;  he  modelled  his 
words  into  slight  and  sportive  figurines,  and  he 
heaped  his  verbal  clay  up  into  the  towering  forms 
of  the  heroic,  the  colossal.  She  listened  flushed, 
panting,  smiling,  tearful,  proud,  disdainful,  yield 
ing.  .  .  .  Then  he  lifted  his  hand  from  hers  and 
disclosed  it  covered  with  rings  —  rings  sparkling 
with  rubies  and  sapphires  and  amethysts.  "  Why 
are  you  here  ?  "  he  protested.  He  snatched  them 
off  and  flung  them  over  the  edge  of  the  hill,  and 
put  a  ring  of  his  own  in  their  place.  Then  the 
plantations  behind  them  suddenly  became  alive 
with  the  friends  of  both,  who  trooped  forth  from 
under  every  shrub  and  tree  ;  and  others  dashed 
up  in  carriages  and  sprang  out  to  offer  their  feli 
citations.  Even  the  bride's  parents  showed  their 
hateful  parchment  faces  in  the  background,  but 
did  not  venture  near  enough  to  beg  forgive 
ness.  .  .  . 

One  o'clock  —  one  —  one  —  one.  "  If  they 
would  but  ring  all  together  and  have  done  with 
it !  "  Bruno  exclaimed. 

Yes,  Donna  Violante  was  well  wedded,  but  if  she 


•    IN  PURSUIT  75 

had  looked  to  married  life  to  bring  her  freedom  she 
was  doomed  to  disappointment.  For  she  was  now 
back  on  her  stairway  again.  She  began  in  her 
peplum,  but  soon  discarded  it  for  the  half-barbaric 
costume  of  the  amazonian  ancestresses  of  her  hus 
band.  Her  black  and  scarlet  petticoat  swished 
against  the  Astrofiammante  marbles,  and  her  dark 
hair,  streaming  down  her  back,  was  bound  by  the 
jingling  gold  head-dress  of  the  Servian  highlands. 
And  on  she  walked  for  as  long  as  her  liege  lord 
willed  —  and  longer. 

There  was  the  cracking  of  a  whip  in  a  street 
near  by,  and  the  loud,  indignant  bray  of  some  be 
lated  beast.  Bruno  sprang  up  with  an  angry  start. 
"  How  shameful !  "  he  cried.  "  But  I  shall  soon 
take  her  away  from  this  odious  place." 

He  shook  up  his  pillow  and  sank  back  upon  it. 

Donna  Violante  was  still  upon  her  stairway — 
she  might  as  well  have  been  upon  a  treadmill. 
She  stepped  on  and  on,  and  suddenly  she  slipped 
and  fell  —  fell  into  the  sea.  He  sprang  after  her 
and  saved  her,  he  alone  ;  let  no  uncouth  North 
man  dare  to  press  her  head  upon  his  shoulder  or 
feel  the  touch  of  that  fair  hand  against  his  own ! 
He  saved  her,  and  saved  her  again  —  over  and 
over;  and  now  dripping,  now  dry,  he  breathed 
his  devotion  and  she  her  gratitude  until  the  bells 
jangled  out  once  more.  Three  ?  Four  ?  No ; 
only  two. 

Bruno  clamped  his  hands  upon  his  forehead  ;  he 
felt  his  brain  beating  in  strong  pulsations  through 


76  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

his  temples.  He  sprang  up  and  looked  out  of  the 
window.  The  moonlight  flooded  the  silent  street ; 
the  moon  itself  shone  full  and  seemed  set  in  its 
place  as  if  nailed  there.  "  Move  on  whenever 
you  like  —  if  you  can,"  said  Bruno,  and  returned 
to  bed. 

He  now  found  himself  before  the  entrance  to  a 
villa.  Two  tall  pines  shaded  it,  and  he  adjusted 
them  and  readjusted  them  to  a  laurel- thicket,  and 
a  sudden  rocky  fall  of  luxuriant  garden-growth  to 
the  sea,  and  a  high-set  balcony  blossoming  with 
the  flowers  of  passion.  The  balcony  appeared 
now  here,  now  there,  under  one  aspect  or  another ; 
and  always  from  the  window  shone  the  same  fair 
beckoning  hand  —  not  wearing  a  ring,  but  only 
awaiting  one.  He  climbed  the  balcony  in  some 
fashion  all  indeterminate  ;  pointed  again  and  again 
to  the  sea,  now  shimmering  in  the  sunshine,  now 
rippling  in  the  moonlight ;  told  of  the  boat  await 
ing  them  by  the  lowest  of  the  garden's  rocky  ter 
races.  .  .  . 

Three  o'clock.  Half  past  three.  Four.  Donna 
Violante,  clad  in  her  peplum  and  crowned  with 
stars,  was  back  again  upon  her  stairway.  Un 
ceasingly,  indefatigably,  at  the  behest  of  her  im 
passioned  and  self-absorbed  lover,  did  she  walk  all 
night  the  great  scalone  of  Palazzo  Astrofiammante, 
and  only  ceased  when  he,  tired  out  from  very  sym 
pathy,  fell  asleep  just  as  daylight  dawned  and  gave 
her  respite. 


IN  PURSUIT  77 


"  I  have  seen  her  again  !  "  cried  Bruno,  bound 
ing  in  upon  the  Freiherr,  at  twilight  the  next 
afternoon. 

44  And  all  is  well  ?  " 

"  All  —  except  her  parents.  She  loves  me 
utterly,"  he  added,  with  great  simplicity. 

He  had  found  the  villa  readily  enough,  and  had 
put  the  trees,  the  shrubs,  and  the  balcony  into  de 
finite  relations  ;  and  Violante  herself  had  slipped 
down  to  admit  him  and  had  led  him  to  a  shady 
nook  on  one  of  the  rocky  ledges,  where  bay  and 
wistaria  combined  to  exclude  the  suspicious  eyes 
of  the  house  and  the  teasing  twinkle  from  the 
rippling  face  of  the  sea. 

"  And  to  think  that  that  glorious  creature  is  the 
daughter  of  such  —  such  —  I  refuse  to  believe  it !  " 
the  young  man  cried.  "  She  is  a  niece,  a  ward,  a 
changeling ;  she  was  adopted ;  or  some  good  fairy 
at  her  birth  must  have  put  forth  all  her  powers  to 
cancel  the  curse  of  heredity !  I  asked  her  why 
her  parents  hated  me,  what  they  had  to  bring 
against  me  .  .  ." 

44  What,  indeed  ?  "  said  the  Freiherr.  44 1  my 
self  can  think  of  nothing." 

44  4  They  don't  know  me,'  I  said ;  4  they  have 
barely  seen  me  —  am  I  a  monster  ?  Why  won't 
they  give  me  a  chance  to  speak  and  tell  them  what 
I  am  and  what  I  have  in  mind  ? ' 


78  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

" 4  They  have  no  more  against  you,'  she  said, 
'  than  against  another  —  against  every  other,  save 
one.' 

"  '  Save  one  ?     What  one  ?  ' 

"  '  One  whom  they  mean  me  for.' 

"  '  Tell  me  his  name.' 

"  '  He  is  Prince  Malevento,  of  this  city.' 

" '  You  care  for  him  ? ' 

"  '  I  ?  '     You  should  have  seen  her  eyes ! 

"  '  He  cares  for  you  ?  ' 

" '  Hardly  more  than  I  for  him.' 

"  '  What  is  your  father's  motive  ? ' 

"  '  The  Prince  is  a  grand  seigneur,  and  a  man 
of  wealth.  His  estates  lie  scattered  from  here 
half  way  to  Rome  :  past  Aversa,  Teano,  —  as  far 
as  Borgo  San  Cipriano.'  " 

"  San  Cipriano  !  "  exclaimed  the  Freiherr. 

"  You  may  well  cry,  '  San  Cipriano  ! '"  returned 
Bruno.  "  Listen.  '  Is  he  in  Naples  now  ? '  I  asked. 

"  '  I  do  not  know.  He  was  when  they  brought 
me  here.'  She  felt  —  who  would  not?  —  the 
mortification,  the  disgrace. 

"  '  And  did  he  see  you  in  Rome  ? ' 

"'No.  He  could  make  the  first  half  of  the 
journey  from  Naples,  but  not  the  last  half ;  he 
could  not  get  beyond  his  estate  at  Borgo  San  Ci 
priano.  But  I  could  be  brought  here.' ' 

"  San  Cipriano ! "  exclaimed  the  Freiherr 
again. 

"  Listen.  4  Describe  him  to  me,'  I  said.  '  Is  he 
tall  or  short  ?  ' 


IN  PURSUIT  79 

"  4  He  is  none  too  tall.  He  has  square  shoul 
ders.' 

"  4  And  is  he  dark  ? ' 

"  '  Dark,  with  a  dark  moustache,  and  a  tuft  be 
neath  his  lower  lip.'  I  see  you  understand.  Yes, 
she  described  him  perfectly  —  that  insolent  fellow 
in  the  front  row  at  the  opera.  I  disliked  him  the 
moment  I  saw  him  —  I  see  plainly  enough  why, 
now.  He  is  a  grand  seigneur,  is  he,  with  great 
estates  ?  But  let  us  see  if  his  estates  are  greater 
than  mine,  or  will  serve  him  better  in  the  end !  " 

Bruno  inflated  a  determined  chest  with  the 
vague  hopes  and  expectations  that  were  leading 
him  southward.  Von  Kaltenau  smiled ;  a  man 
who  seemed  to  care  so  little  could  make  but  small 
headway  against  one  who  cared  so  much. 


XI 

Bruno  had  slipped  out  through  the  gate  of  the 
Villa  Speranza  as  dexterously  as  he  had  slipped 
in,  but  the  eyes  that  could  not  detect  him  in  the 
wistaria  bower  caught  him  between  the  pines.  All 
ignorant  of  this,  he  returned  to  the  city,  and  the 
next  day  he  proposed  to  the  Freiherr,  out  of  his 
abounding  happiness  and  out  of  a  consciousness, 
perhaps,  that  his  friend  had  enjoyed  of  late  but 
little  of  his  company,  an  excursion  across  the  Bay. 
They  returned  from  Sorrento  at  sunset.  As  their 
little  vaporetto  was  approaching  the  port,  a  larger 
steamer,  pointed  straight  for  the  open  sea,  passed 


80  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

within  less  than  a  hundred  yards.  Bruno,  idly 
scanning  the  passengers  that  leaned  over  the  rail 
and  looked  down  upon  his  own  craft,  suddenly 
saw  one  face  he  knew.  It  was  that  of  Donna  Vio- 
lante,  fixed  firmly  and  sadly  on  the  receding  city. 

Bruno  caught  at  a  passing  deck-hand.  "  What 
steamer  is  that  ?  " 

"  The  steamer  for  Messina,  signore." 

Bruno  faced  about  and  threw  upon  the  Freiherr 
a  look  of  anger,  exasperation,  and  rage.  "  We 
follow  to-morrow !  "  he  said. 

The  Freiherr  sighed.  He  was  becoming  a  mere 
subordinate;  his  plans  were  as  plans  that  had 
never  been.  He  bowed  in  silence. 


PART  III.— STILL  SOUTHWARD 

I 

BRUNO  left  Naples  next  day  for  Messina,  in 
accordance  with  his  declared  intention.  Yiolante 
had  looked  back  yesterday  over  the  stern  of  the 
steamer ;  Bruno  looked  ahead  to-day  over  the  bow. 
The  Freiherr,  standing  at  the  end  of  the  Imniaco- 
latella,  strained  his  eyes  in  vain  for  a  farewell 
glimpse  of  him. 

Yon  Kaltenau  had  declined  to  keep  up  any 
longer  the  pace  set  by  the  rushing  eagerness  of 
Bruno.  His  own  objects  were  still  before  him  in 
the  fullest  definiteness ;  but  Donna  Violante,  with 
whom  he  had  never  spoken,  and  whom  he  had 
barely  seen,  did  not  yet  possess  a  completely  es 
tablished  identity  in  his  mind.  This  was  to  come 
later. 

44  Go  with  me  by  land,  and  give  me  a  few  days 
in  Apulia,  on  the  way,"  the  Freiherr  had  said. 

"  What  do  you  think  I  am  made  of?  "  demanded 
Bruno,  and  steamed  away  forthwith,  alone.  They 
agreed  to  meet  again  at  Messina. 

Von  Kaltenau,  having  lost  the  Cyclopean  anti 
quities  between  Rome  and  Naples,  was  doubly 
determined  not  to  lose  the  Romanesque  cathedrals 


82  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

lately  resurrected  in  the  far  southeastern  pro 
vinces.  It  was  in  this  forbidding  district,  truth  to 
tell,  that  he  had  designed  putting  Bruno  to  the 
final  test  before  they  should  leave  the  mainland 
and  take  ship  together  for  their  ultimate  goal. 
"  I  should  have  tested  his  digestion  at  those 
wretched  inns,"  said  the  Freiherr,  "  and  his  stamina 
in  the  chars-a-bancs  that  jolt  over  those  fearful 
roads,  and  his  patience  with  the  swarming  beggars 
that  everywhere  abound,  and  his  appreciation  of 
architecture,  as  well  as  his  ability  to  rouse  my 
own,  before  the  churches  of  Trani  and  Troja  and 
Bitonto  and  Altamura.  But  now  I  must  undergo 
the  experience  alone  and  trust  to  my  own  unillu- 
minative  eye." 

But  before  he  ventured  upon  this  exacting  ex 
pedition  he  paused  to  perform  one  very  significant 
office  for  his  absent  young  friend.  Though  Bruno's 
specific  function  was  now  in  suspension,  the  Frei 
herr  was  determined  that  it  should  be  resumed,  a 
little  later  on,  with  more  effect  than  ever.  "  What 
I  see  and  feel  will  depend  upon  what  he  sees  and 
feels.  If  I  look  for  warmth  I  must  feed  the  fur 
nace.  The  warmth  I  look  for  will  surely  not  come 
from  a  balked  love,  nor  from  a  mind  inflamed  by 
disappointment.  If  he  is  disappointed  in  one  di 
rection  he  must  be  satisfied  in  another.  If  love  fails 
to  quicken  his  nature  so  as  to  meet  my  require 
ments,  then  something  else  shall :  earthly  grand 
eurs,  material  splendors  —  the  pride  of  life,  in  short. 
That  dukedom,  whether  it  exists  or  not,  shall  be." 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  83 

Before  leaving  Naples  he  bethought  himself  of 
a  Sicilian  friend,  to  whom  he  wrote  explaining  the 
situation  and  its  needs.  The  Marchese  Capoaineno 
was  a  man  whom  he  had  met  during  his  first  Ro 
man  sojourn,  and  who,  gallantly  braving  the  ter 
rors  of  the  Alpine  passes  some  years  later,  had 
spent  a  tonic  August  at  Kaltenau.  An  irregular 
correspondence  —  one  of  many  lapses  and  resump 
tions  —  had  been  carried  on  through  the  succeed 
ing  years,  and  now  the  Freiherr  took  it  up  once 
more.  "  Filippo,"  he  said,  "  will  serve  my  turn 
perfectly.  Not  only  is  he  a  man  of  wit,  but  — 
what  is  remarkable  in  the  Latin  —  a  man  of 
humor,  too.  I  shall  put  it  all  into  his  hands." 

The  Freiherr  wrote  a  full  statement  of  the  situ 
ation,  nor  did  he  spare  emphasis  on  his  own  pecul 
iar  plight.  "  We  expect,"  he  wrote,  "  a  dukedom 
—  one  of  some  magnitude,  and  with  estates  wide 
enough  to  maintain  the  proper  degree  of  pomp. 
Palaces,  villas,  pleasances,  spectacles,  fetes,  troops 
of  servitors  —  nothing  of  that  kind  can  come  amiss. 
Our  own  dukedom  may  be  found  to  exist,  or  not 
to  exist ;  it  may  meet  our  ideals,  or  it  may  not  — 
a  few  weeks  will  perhaps  tell  us.  But  in  the  pro 
visional  dukedom  I  require  for  filling  up  the  inter 
val,  there  must  be  no  flaw,  no  shortcoming.  I 
know  your  resources ;  employ  them." 


84:  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


II 

The  Freiherr  now  disappeared  from  human 
cognizance  —  he  buried  himself  among  his  Apu- 
lian  cathedrals.  Rose-windows  occupied  him,  and 
lion  portals,  and  tombs,  and  anibones,  and  cande 
labra,  —  but  roused  him  to  no  great  enthusiasm. 
He  found  that,  shifting  for  himself,  he  fared  but 
indifferently :  he  might  as  well  have  repeated  the 
conventional  northern  tour  —  Parma,  Reggio,  Mo- 
dena,  and  the  rest  • —  and  have  stopped  at  that. 
Even  the  f a$ade  of  Altamura  —  a  physiognomy 
almost  human*  in  its  sympathetic  sweetness  and  its 
irregular  play  of  expression  —  left  him  unwarmed, 
while  Bitonto  —  no,  nothing  occurred  at  Bitonto 
to  raise  his  spirits. 

Bitonto's  church,  like  the  others,  has  its  rose- 
window,  and  its  ancient  bronze  doors  flanked  by 
column-bearing  lions ;  and  it  has,  moreover,  its 
own  little  flagged  foreyard  set  off  from  the  larger 
piazza  by  a  tiny  balustrade,  quaint,  massy,  and 
altogether  unexpected.  The  larger  space  flanking 
the  church  has  a  towering  column  reared  in  honor 
of  the  Madonna,  and  a  range  of  marble  seats  after 
the  chaste  and  severe  model  of  the  best  Greek 
days.  The  Freiherr  lounged  upon  one  of  these 
seats,  while  the  sacristan  climbed  a  long  ladder  to 
scour  the  Madonna  and  her  attendant  cherubs ; 
and  a  bustling  traffic  in  pottery  —  jars  and  vases 
whose  forms  showed  the  perdurable  traditions  of 
Magna  Gracia  —  went  on  about  him. 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  85 

"While  the  Freiherr  was  seated  thus  upon  his 
white  slab,  a  figure  dressed  in  black  issued  from 
the  cathedral,  crossed  the  inclosure  before  it,  and 
came  picking  a  careful  way  through  the  litter  of 
earthenware  that  incumbered  the  paving-stones  of 
the  square.  The  figure  was  that  of  a  woman,  and 
she  carried  herself,  despite  the  obstacles  in  her 
way,  with  a  certain  accentuated  distinction  that 
suggested  the  tragedy  queen  of  other  days.  She 
was  unmistakably  a  stranger  to  the  place  —  the 
only  person  of  consideration  that  the  Freiherr  had 
yet  encountered  there ;  her  aspect  and  carriage 
alike  indicated  her  intimate  alliance  with  a  larger 
and  wider  world,  a  world  all  alien  to  the  remote 
provincial  preoccupations  of  Apulia. 

"  I  will  accost  her,"  the  Freiherr  decided  ;  he  was 
growing  perceptibly  human.  "  She  has  a  speaking 
eye,  and  she  may  possess  a  speaking  tongue  as  well." 

The  woman  advanced.  Her  age  seemed  to  be 
about  his,  and  her  expression  was  that  of  one  long 
accustomed  to  stand  by  her  own  strength,  and  to 
meet  the  world  on  its  own  hard  terms.  Her  black 
hair  threw  a  sombre  shadow  upon  her  temples,  and 
the  look  of  grave  intentness  she  cast  upon  the  only 
signorial  person  within  her  range  of  vision  but 
strengthened  his  determination  to  speak. 

•'Madam,"  said  the  Freiherr,  rising,  "I  am  a 
stranger  here  ;  and  you,  I  judge,  are  another.  We 
two,  I  venture  to  say,  are  the  only  strangers  in  the 
entire  district.  That  fact  should  suffice  to  place 
us  upon  common  ground." 


86  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

The  lady  showed  no  reluctance  to  reply.  "  You 
are  right,"  she  said,  in  a  voice  like  the  tolling  of  a 
deep-toned  bell ;  "  I  am  a  stranger  here.  More, 
I  am  a  stranger  everywhere." 

"Ha!  "  cried  the  Freiherr  within  himself  ;  "  she 
is  willing  to  speak.  And  she  has  something  to  tell." 
Already  a  feeling  had  come  over  him  such  as  fol 
lows  when  the  footlights  sink  to  the  merest  glim 
mer  and  a  great  tragedienne  takes  the  centre  of 
the  stage  to  deliver  her  tirade. 

"  Not  to  be  at  home  here,"  replied  the  Freiherr, 
"  is  no  great  deprivation ;  and  I  hope  there  is  no 
third  stranger  whose  fondness  for  mediaeval  monu 
ments  has  plunged  him  into  the  discomforts  that 
Apulia  requires  us  to  endure.  But  to  be  a  stran 
ger  everywhere  "  —  He  paused  interrogatively. 

"  I  cannot  claim  to  share  your  interest  in  medi 
aeval  monuments,"  the  lady  replied.  "  The  inter 
est  that  has  brought  me  here  is  of  a  very  different 
nature." 

"  Ha !  "  cried  the  Freiherr  to  himself  once  more  ; 
"  she  must  speak ;  she  cannot  but  speak.  Pre 
sently  she  will  tell  me  everything." 

The  sacristan  went  on  rubbing  his  cherubs.  The 
pottery  market  continued  its  course  about  them, 
with  the  shuffling  of  many  feet,  the  babble  of 
many  tongues,  the  jostling  and  crushing  of  the 
rude  wares  upon  the  blue  slabs  of  the  pavement. 

"May  I  venture  to  offer  you  the  half  of  my 
bench? "asked  the  Freiherr.  "This  piazza  is  a 
salon,  if  we  can  but  bring  ourselves  to  view  it  so 
• —  and  the  only  one  available." 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  87 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  courtesy,"  replied  the 
lady,  with  a  carefully  modulated  inflection  and  a 
sweeping  gesture  of  an  approved  and  familiar 
type.  She  seated  herself  as  does  one  who  feels 
conscious  of  the  united  gaze  of  many  eyes.  "  A 
courtesy  as  grateful  as  unexpected.  Even  civility, 
I  find,  is  no  longer  to  be  counted  upon  of  a  surety. 
And  yet  there  were  times  when  I  had  more,  much 
more,  as  a  mere  matter  of  course." 

"  It  pains  me,"  said  the  Freiherr,  "  that  civility 
should  come  to  any  woman  as  a  surprise." 

"  I  fear  you  know  the  world  less  well  than  I. 
For  I  have  lived  —  lived."  She  bent  her  beetling 
brows  upon  the  pavement,  and  clasped  tensely  the 
hands  lying  in  her  lap. 

The  Freiherr  passed  over  this  belittling  assump 
tion.  "You  have  lived,  you  say.  Do  you  wish 
to  tell  me  the  story  of  your  life  ? "  he  inquired 
gravely,  and  sat  all  eyes  and  ears.  He  could  not 
hush  the  house,  — a  crash  and  a  scream  of  expostu 
lation  came  from  the  other  end  of  the  market 
place,  —  but  he  could  give  his  own  best  attention  ; 
the  life  experiences  of  others  seemed  to  be  almost 
becoming  his  daily  food. 

"  The  story  of  my  life  ?  You  know  it  already. 
Everybody  knows  it  —  save  the  end." 

"  The  end  ?  "  repeated  the  Freiherr.  "  But  that 
has  not  been  reached." 

"  Reached  and  overpassed.  I  have  survived 
myself." 

"  When  did  that  happen  ?  " 


88  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Six  months  ago.  I  made  a  grave  mistake, 
and  ended  my  life  then  and  there." 

"  The  story  of  your  life !  "  cried  the  Freiherr. 
"  I  beg  !  I  insist !  " 

"  You  know  it  already,  I  tell  you."  She  paused 
impressively,  then  gave  the  yet  regal  look  of  an 
abdicated  queen.  "  I  am  Monna  Clotilde,"  she 
said. 

But  this  illuminating  declaration  left  the  Frei 
herr  totally  in  the  dark.  His  mental  state  was 
too  plain  for  disguise,  and  the  lady  stared  at  him 
with  a  surprise  at  once  mournful  and  indignant. 

"  And  you  do  not  remember  me  ?  "  she  cried  in 
reproach.  "  Ah !  what,  then,  is  fame  ?  I  have 
survived,  it  seems,  not  only  myself  but  even  my 
memory !  " 

"Madam,"  said  the  Freiherr,  regretfully,  "do 
not  gauge  worldly  fame  by  such  a  poor  measure  as 
you  find  in  me.  But  do  not  believe  that,  having 
once  seen  you,  I  could  forget." 

"  What  am  I  to  understand  ?  "  she  asked.  "  That 
you  have  never  heard  of  me  at  all  ?  Why,  under 
the  name  of  Monna  Clotilde  I  became  famous  to 
the  whole  world  !  " 

"  Ah,"  said  the  Freiherr,  "  I  am  one,  I  fear, 
who  has  been  in  the  world  but  little.  I  have  my 
snowy  pastures,  my  chalets,  my  pine-trees  ;  and 
among  them  I  have  spent  too  much  time,  perhaps, 
heedless  of  greater  concerns." 

Monna  Clotilde,  as  she  called  herself,  became 
somewhat  appeased  and  looked  him  over  with  a 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  89 

slow  and  critical  eye.  "  You  are,  indeed,  sadly 
uninformed,"  she  at  last  said  ;  "  but  I  do  not  be 
lieve  you  to  be  lacking  in  real  discrimination.  I 
think  I  might  perhaps  trust  you  with  my  story." 

The  Freiherr,  who  was  too  fond,  possibly,  of 
assuming  a  world-weary  attitude,  was  rather  piqued 
that  this  woman,  coolly  and  masterfully  taking  the 
upper  hand,  should  set  him  so  quickly  and  so  de 
cidedly  in  the  ranks  of  the  inexperienced ;  but  he 
hid  his  umbrage  and  replied  :  — 

"  Give  it  to  me,  by  all  means.  You  are  far  from 
the  first  to  do  so.  I  promise  you  my  best  atten 
tion." 

Ill 

Monna  Clotilde  half  rose  from  her  bench  and 
then  sank  back  again  in  a  slightly  different  pose 
—  a  manoauvre  that  seemed  necessary  to  mark  the 
formal  entry  into  a  new  stage  of  her  performance. 
And  in  the  first  brief  silence  that  overtook  the 
busy  mart  all  round  them,  she  entered  with  her 
bell-like  voice  upon  her  recital. 

"  As  I  have  already  acknowledged,"  she  began, 
"  I  committed  a  grave  error  and  I  have  paid  for 
it.  The  error  I  made  was  to  take  a  revenge.  But 
not  immediately  upon  the  offense,  nor,  indeed,  till 
many  years  after.  For  opportunity  failed  during 
more  than  one  of  my  most  vindictive  moods  ;  pity 
sometimes  exercised  its  sway ;  and  now  and  then 
there  would  return  the  hope  that  everything  might 
yet  come  to  be  as  it  had  been  before.  But  through 


90  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

these  many  years  I  could  still  say  to  myself,  '  My 
day  will  come ;  meanwhile,  there  is  always  some 
thing  ahead  —  something  to  look  forward  to ;  in 
terest  in  life  will  never  fail  so  long  as  he  lives  and 
so  long  as  I  may  strike  whenever  it  shall  please 
me.*  This  thought,  this  purpose,  became,  however 
little  I  realized  it,  the  very  axis  of  my  existence ; 
it  was  this  —  though  I  discovered  it  too  late  — 
that  gave  my  life  unity,  object,  direction.  It  drew 
together  the  wretched  remnants  of  my  days,  just 
as  the  magnet  lays  loose  bits  of  iron  in  order  along 
some  central  line." 

"  I  can  well  understand  your  position,"  said  the 
Freiherr. 

"  At  last,  in  a  moment  of  wounded  and  infuriate 
pride,  I  did  what  could  be  done  but  once  :  I  let 
him  die  —  I  made  him  die  —  I  killed  him,  if  you 
like.  No  one  knows  that  I  did  it ;  no  one  knows 
how  I  did  it.  For  none  could  have  guessed,  and 
none  has  ever  been  told." 

"  How  did  you  do  it  ? "  asked  the  Freiherr, 
boldly.  He  saw  the  opportunity  to  gain  the  upper 
band  in  turn  —  he  knew  the  woman  spoke  because 
she  must. 

"  I  did  it  by  a  means  he  taught  me,  a  means 
that  was  suggested  to  me  by  one  of  his  own  dramas 
—  my  sole  indebtedness  to  him.  As  for  the  rest, 
he  owed  all  to  me  —  a  thousand  times  more  than  I 
to  him.  I  took  his  plays  and  gave  them  body  and 
substance ;  yes,  he  was  a  dramatist,  though  a  man 
of  great  family  and  immense  fortune.  His  talent 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  91 

was  wayward  and  fugitive,  but  I  steadied  it,  I 
expanded  it,  I  administered  both  it  and  him.  I 
taught  him  stage-craft  and  strengthened  his  art. 
I  carried  his  plays  abroad  and  made  him  triumph 
in  the  great  capitals  of  the  world.  As  a  boy  he 
was  a  prodigy  of  precocity,  of  innate  pagan  vicious- 
ness,  —  and  he  always  remained  a  soul  naked  yet 
unashamed  —  more,  incapable  of  shame.  I  was 
cautioned  ;  I  was  warned.  But  I  was  no  more 
able  to  withstand  his  fascinations  than  others  have 
been  able  to  since.  He  accompanied  me  every 
where  ;  he  was  as  much  in  public  view  as  I  myself ; 
we  triumphed  together.  I  made  his  Monna  Clo- 
tilde  a  familiar  name  far  and  wide  ;  and  yet  — and 
yet  —  The  day  came  when  he  spoke  the  word  of 
parting  ;  it  was  sudden,  it  was  brutal.  He  stood 
in  the  public  street  and  threw  his  old  gloves  away 
and  drew  on  a  new  pair.  That  was  the  end  of  my 
career ;  nothing  reconciled  me  to  the  idea  of  living 
longer  but  the  thought  of  my  revenge  "  — 

"  How  did  you  take  it  ?  "  asked  von  Kaltenau, 
again. 

"  By  a  means  he  taught  me,"  she  repeated. 
"One  of  his  dramas  showed  a  child  whose  life 
was  an  embarrassment  and  a  reproach.  It  stood 
between  a  man  and  a  woman,  and  gave  no  happi 
ness  to  either.  The  child  must  die.  The  measures 
taken  were  passive,  not  active  ;  for  there  are  sins 
of  omission  as  well  as  of  commission.  There  are 
times  when  one  may  work  one's  will  by  simply 
staying  one's  hand,  and  yet  deny  all  guilt.  The 


92  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

child  was  ill.  It  lay  near  an  open  window.  The 
weather  changed  with  the  changing  hours.  Close 
the  window,  and  the  child  lives ;  leave  it  alone, 
and  the  child  dies." 

"  And  you  ?  "  asked  the  Freiherr,  with  the  per 
sistence  of  a  confirmed  reader. 

"  I  shall  not  tell  you  what  I  did,  or  what  I  left 
undone.  Imagine  me,  if  you  like,  as  a  feigned 
nurse  who  withheld  the  draught.  See  him,  if  you 
will,  as  a  drowning  man,  struggling  for  the  life 
that  I,  with  a  cry,  with  a  step,  might  have  pre 
served.  Fancy  him  caught,  if  you  choose,  by  the 
accidental  closing  of  some  great  barred  door  and 
starving  there  because  the  only  one  who  knew  his 
plight  let  well  enough  alone.  Believe  what  you 
please  ;  I  shall  not  tell  you  more." 

"  I  am  glad  to  have  heard  as  much.  To  lighten, 
thus,  by  speech,  the  load  of  your  remorse  "  — 

"  Kemorse  ?  "  she  cried,  lifting  her  tragic  stare 
from  the  paving-stones.  "  Regret,  endless  regret, 
if  you  like,  for  my  own  precipitate  folly ;  but  re 
morse  —  never !  Regret  for  the  feeble  means  that 
I  employed,  when  others  —  who  should  know  them 
all,  if  not  I  ?  —  were  at  my  hand :  poison,  the 
dagger " — 

"  What  was  his  name  ?  "  demanded  the  Freiherr. 

Monna  Clotilde  looked  at  him  long.  The  longer 
she  looked  the  further  removed  did  he  seem,  to 
both  of  them,  from  her  world  and  her  tragedy. 
"  I  think  I  may  tell  you,"  she  said  at  last.  "  He 
was  the  Prince  of  Malevento." 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  93 


IV 

"  What !  "  cried  the  Freiherr.  "  The  Prince 
of  Malevento !  " 

"  You  know  the  name  ?  "  cried  Monna  Clotilde 
in  turn.  "  You  know  the  new  Prince,  his  brother  ?  " 

"  I  have  seen  him  —  once.  The  world  is  small, 
and  I  am  nearer  to  it,  after  all,  than  either  of  us 
fancied.  Why  are  you  here  ?  "  he  asked  swiftly. 

"Do  not  ask  why.  There  is  no  longer  any 
*  why '  in  such  an  objectless  existence  as  mine. 
We  are  but  ten  miles  from  Bari,  their  family 
seat,"  she  added. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do  here  ?  Take  a 
further  vengeance  ?  " 

"Willingly,  if  I  might.  But  most  of  all  I 
have  wandered  south  to  find,  if  possible,  a  new 
object  in  life,  a  new  interest  —  an  interest  that 
will  help  me  unify  my  remaining  days." 

"In  other  words,"  commented  the  Freiherr,  with 
a  touch  of  gothic  quaintness,  "you  are  searching 
for  a  new  backbone." 

"Express  it  in  those  terms,  if  you  like.  My 
hope,"  she  went  on,  "  is  this  :  To  find  some  tender 
young  soul  that  I  may  guide  through  the  thorny 
paths  of  this  world ;  to  open  a  pair  of  innocent 
eyes  upon  the  manifold  iniquities  of  human  life  ; 
to  show  some  confiding  heart  the  infidelity,  even 
the  treachery  of  the  beloved  and  trusted  object ; 
to  see  a  beautiful  nature  disintegrate  and  degener- 


94  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

ate,  not  indeed  through  any  fault  of  mine,  but 
from  a  perception  of  the  inherent  viciousness  and 
hatefulness  of  the  world  itself.  On  such  lines  as 
these,  my  ruined  life,  I  feel  sure,  would  unify  it 
self  once  more." 

"  Woman,  woman,"  cried  the  Freiherr,  "  you  do 
not  mean  what  you  say !  " 

"  With  this  object  in  view,"  went  on  Monna 
Clotilde,  relentlessly,  "I  have  come  southward, 
where  hearts  are  warmest,  where  hopes  are  high 
est,  where  the  blood  courses  most  freely,  where 
the  deed  follows  most  quicky  upon  the  thought. 
I  search  day  after  day  for  some  sweet  young  girl, 

—  as  I  loiter  on  the  promenade  or  linger  within 
the  church-door ;  and  in  such  a  nature,  once  found, 
I  find  my  own  Last  Kefuge." 

"  Woman,  woman,"  cried  the  Freiherr  again, 
"  you  cannot  realize  what  words  you  utter  !  " 

"  And  if  by  chance,"  pursued  Monna  Clotilde, 
inexorably,  "  the  girl  should  be  an  affianced  bride, 

—  if  fate  should  favor  me  so  far  as  to  grant  me 
that  she   be  the  promised  wife  of  young  Male- 
vento  "  — 

"Hush!  hush!" 

—  "  who  alone  has  profited  by  my  rash  deed, 
and  who  may  therefore  justly  stand  the  punishment 
I  plan  »  __ 

"  Stop,  stop  !  " 

—  "  then   I  shall  be  well  content !  "     Monna 
Clotilde,  with  an  air  of  tragic  bravado,  rose,  drew 
her  black  mantle  about  her,  and  strode  away. 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  95 

"  Ah,  well,"  thought  the  Freiherr,  as  he  sat 
there  and  reconsidered  this  scene  and  its  presen 
tation  ;  "  her  efforts  may  be  checked  —  or  they 
may  be  guided;  let  it  be  as  the  unfolding  of 
events  shall  require." 


Meanwhile  no  news  of  Bruno  reached  von  Kal- 
tenau ;  nor,  considering  the  nature  of  the  circum 
stances,  could  anything  of  the  kind  be  looked  for. 
The  Freiherr  must  content  himself  with  the  final 
picture  of  Bruno  putting  off  from  the  Immacola- 
tella  and  with  the  hurried  words  of  uncertainty 
and  apprehension  that  accompanied  his  departure. 

44  How  am  I  to  know  who  went  with  her  ?  Who 
is  to  assure  me  that  Malevento  did  not  cross  on 
the  same  ship  ?  What  is  there  to  show  that  Mes 
sina  is  their  real  destination  ?  And  then  the  sea, 
the  sea  itself !  —  if  it  can  call  to  her  from  the 
shore,  may  it  not  call  to  her  still  more  loudly  from 
the  steamer's  deck?" 

"  Never  mind  the  sea.  You  have  only  the  word 
of  those  two  men  —  complete  strangers." 

Bruno's  look  of  protest  quite  abashed  the  Frei 
herr  ;  he  was  made  to  feel  that  he  had  called  into 
question  the  true-heartedness  of  the  beloved  ob 
ject,  and  her  boundless  capacity  for  rapturous 
self-immolation. 

44  You  can  hardly  be  sure,  of  course,  that  any 
such  action  as  they  described  ever  took  place,"  he 
insisted,  on  the  defensive.  He  made  it  plain  that 


96  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

a  delicate-minded  lover  would  still  leave  some 
margin  of  reserve. 

Bruno  flushed.  "  I  —  I  "  —  he  began.  But 
the  last  moment  of  possible  delay  was  over,  and 
he  pressed  ahead  with  his  f ellow- voyagers ;  and 
the  Freiherr,  left  behind  with  his  own  thoughts, 
could  only  surmise  that  the  exchange  of  confi 
dences  within  the  wistaria  bower  had  been  without 
any  reserves  whatever. 

Not  that  he  was  able  —  or  disposed  —  to  con 
jure  up  a  vivid  picture  of  the  brief  stolen  meeting 
in  the  villa  grounds,  with  all  its  ingenuous  ardor, 
its  unrestrained  interchange  of  sentiments  and 
confessions.  For  Bruno's  desultory  courtship  had 
not  even  yet  assumed  in  his  mind  the  shape  and 
substance  of  a  solid  fact ;  while  Donna  Violante, 
the  creature  of  two  or  three  brief  and  hurried  half- 
glances  and  of  a  few  bits  of  report  and  hearsay, 
had  hardly  conquered  for  herself  the  distinct  iden 
tity  of  an  actual  personality.  This  was  to  come 
later. 

Donna  Violante,  in  fact,  had  done  more  for  him 
than  he  for  her.  She  had  observed  him  on  the 
Pincian,  —  however  little  she  may  have  seemed  to 
see,  —  and  she  had  recognized  him  on  Posilipo, 
and  had  become  enough  interested  to  ask  some 
questions  about  him. 

"He  is  a  splendid  man,"  said  Bruno,  in  re 
sponse.  "Rather  quiet  and  earnest  and  sedate, 
perhaps,  but  still  a  "  — 

"  I  like  men  of  that  type,"  she  declared.     "  A 


STILL   SOUTHWARD  97 

strong,  steady  man,  who  makes  little  stir  and  yet 
gives  you  the  feeling  that  he  may  be  depended 
upon,  must  be  a  great  comfort." 

"  You  do  not  like  me,  then  ?  "  asked  Bruno, 
quickly  piqued.  "  You  would  have  me  quiet  and 
sedate.  You  would  have  me  moon  and  mope. 
Very  well,  then ;  give  me  twenty  years." 

"  Forty  would  not  be  enough,"  replied  Yiolante, 
smiling.  "  Meanwhile,  I  ask  for  no  change." 

"  And  as  far  as  being  depended  upon  is  con 
cerned,"  Bruno  rushed  along,  "  let  me  tell  you 
that  he  has  to  depend  as  well  as  another,  and  that 
his  dependence  is  wholly  on  me  !  " 

"  On  you  ?  That  seems  improbable.  Mine  may 
be  on  you,  perhaps,  but  not  his." 

"  You  disparage  me  !  You  ridicule  me  !  Yet 
I  have  shown  him  a  new  world,  all  the  same.  But 
if  I  could  only  reveal  to  him  such  a  world  as  you 
have  revealed  to  me  !  "  he  cried. 

"/might  doit." 

"No,"  he  cried  again,  catching  her  by  her 
wrists.  "  No,  you  shall  not  say  that !  You  shall 
not  think  of  such  a  thing  !  " 

"  Foolish  boy  !  "  murmured  Violante,  giving  her 
lips  along  with  her  wrists. 

Meanwhile  the  Freiherr,  with  his  interests  and 
sympathies  minimized  by  distance,  solitude,  tem 
perament,  and  the  absence  of  any  interpretive  aids, 
went  on  with  his  journey,  finding  little  to  his  taste 
in  things,  and  little  more  in  persons. 


THE  LAST  REFUGE 


VI 

Bari,  even  as  the  ancestral  seat  —  to  adopt  the 
expression  of  the  tragic  woman  at  Bitonto  —  the 
ancestral  seat  of  the  Maleventi,  had  no  interest 
for  the  Freiherr ;  it  was  only  his  point  of  depar 
ture  for  Taranto.  On  the  brief  journey  between 
these  two  towns  —  a  flight  from  the  Adriatic  Sea 
to  the  Ionian  —  his  sole  companion  was  a  young 
man  of  expansive  nature  and  voluble  speech,  who 
began  to  talk  at  the  start  and  talked  indefatigably 
till  the  finish.  He  was  a  writer  —  this  transpired 
without  loss  of  time  —  and  his  principal  concern 
was  the  portrayal  of  his  contemporaries  in  works 
of  fiction. 

"  I  have  succeeded,"  he  said ;  "  I  have  estab 
lished  myself,  and  have  position,  recognition,  a 
following.  But  my  position  is  only  about  so  high ; 
my  recognition  not  completely  general ;  my  follow 
ing,  to  confess  the  truth,  rather  limited.  I  ask 
myself  why.  I  have  almost  found  the  answer. 
My  participation  in  life  has  been,  after  all,  but 
partial.  I  have  always  felt  a  slight  reluctance 
about  committing  myself  —  a  touch  of  dread  about 
letting  myself  go.  I  have  lived,  in  fact,  by  the 
seashore  without  ever  venturing  into  the  water. 
Others  have  gone  in  before  my  eyes,  and  I  have 
recorded,  to  the  best  of  my  endeavor,  the  exhilara 
tions  they  appeared  to  feel,  the  dangers  they  ap 
peared  to  brave.  But  as  soon  as  the  waves  have 


STILL   SOUTHWARD  99 

stolen  up  to  my  own  toes,  I  have  always  stepped 
back  upon  the  dry  sands." 

"  There  are  other  elements  besides  water,"  ob 
served  the  Freiherr.  "  The  sea  hath  its  pearls, 
true  ;  but  no  less  has  the  land  its  diamonds.  I 
myself  have  not  often  ventured  into  the  surf,  —  at 
least  of  late  years,  —  but  all  the  same  "  — 

"  All  the  same,  you  have  found  your  diar 
mond?" 

The  Freiherr  returned  no  categorical  answer. 
"  And  there  is  fire  —  burn  your  fingers  with  that. 
And  there  is  air.  None  of  the  elements  can  lead 
one  into  more  promising  difficulties  and  into  more 
profitable  dangers  than  air,  as  it  slips  through  the 
vocal  chords  of  the  human  throat.  A  little  whiff 
of  air,  rightly  directed,  may  compass  all  the  weal 
or  woe  that  our  poor  flesh  is  capable  of  enduring." 

"But  my  fancy,"  insisted  the  other,  "  has  always 
turned  to  the  sea  —  the  sea  we  have  just  left  at 
Bari." 

"  And  the  sea  that  we  shall  presently  regain  at 
Taranto." 

"  I  have  always  wished  that  it  might  steal  up  to 
me  with  its  myriad  fingers  and  drag  me  out,  de 
spite  myself,  to  an  exploration  of  its  depths  and 
dangers.  Time  and  again  I  have  hoped  it  might 
rush  up  the  beach  in  one  great  wave,  overwhelming 
me,  hurrying  me  out,  tossing  me,  buffeting  me,  de 
stroying  me  at  need,  this  wonderful  sea  of  life !  " 

"  I  take  the  ordinary  precautions,"  said  the 
Freiherr,  dryly  ;  "  the  life  line,  the  life  preserver." 


100  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  And  what  I  long  for  most  of  all,"  went  on  the 
other,  with  increasing  volubility,  "  is  free  partici 
pation  (as  a  subordinate,  perhaps)  in  some  heart- 
drama  warm  with  human  passion.  To  be  not  a 
looker-on,  but  an  actual  actor.  To  have  my  finger 
on  the  pulse  of  intrigue,  to  feel  the  heart-beats  of 
hate  and  hope  and  despair.  Then,  I  am  sure, 
would  my  work  at  last  be  all  it  should  be,  my 
position  the  highest,  my  recognition  universal,  my 
following  like  the  sands  of  —  yes,  like  the  sands 
of  the  sea !  " 

"  That  aim  has  brought  you  here  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  I  have  wandered  so  far  afield  it  is  for 
this  very  purpose  —  to  find  a  group  of  ardent,  pas 
sionate  souls  racked  by  doubts,  disappointments, 
rivalries,  jealousies  —  to  look  on,  to  participate 
through  sympathy,  to  record  with  exactness  "  — 

"  Are  you  crossing  over  to  Sicily  ?  "  asked  the 
Freiherr.  He  thought  of  his  young  friends  who 
had  already  hastened  thither  and  of  the  various 
minds  —  observing,  inquiring,  interpreting  —  that 
were  moving  in  the  same  direction.  The  possible 
anguish  of  the  persons  principally  concerned  in 
these  potential  complications  might  be  assuaged  in 
part  by  the  general  richness  of  the  commentary. 

"  Yes.  And  Sicily  will  put  a  term  to  my 
travels.  There,  if  anywhere,  my  aspirations  must 
be  satisfied.  For  me  it  is  the  dernier  ressort, 
the"- 

"The  Last  Kefuge,"  von  Kaltenau  supplied 
automatically. 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  101 

"  Yes,  the  Last  Refuge.  I  hasten  to  the  catas 
trophe,  hoped  for  but  still  uncertain,  unknown. 
At  all  costs  I  must  be  in  at  the  death." 

"  You  feel  like  that  ?  "  asked  the  Freiherr.  "  I 
should  feel  like  an  intruder." 

"  One  must  intrude.  One  must  gather  his  data. 
If  I  am  to  divine  the  inner  labyrinth  I  must  at 
least  have  the  outer  indications ;  if  I  am  to  portray 
the  workings  of  the  inmost  nature  I  must  not  be 
denied  the  closest  study  of  unrestricted  play  of 
feature.  The  tribute  due  from  nature  and  from 
the  modesty  of  nature  must  be  exacted  "  — 

"  I  understand.  The  modesty  of  nature  must 
be  ruthlessly  overstepped  if  professional  necessi 
ties  require  it.  But  what  I  am  thinking  of  is  the 
tribute  of  modesty  due  to  nature,  —  the  universal 
freemasonry  that  should  cooperate  to  cloak  chari 
tably  the  nakedness  of  the  poor  creature  taken 
unaware.  I  myself  try  always  to  have  but  a  dull 
eye  and  a  deaf  ear  for  any  one  caught  in  the  open 
by  a  great  emotional  crisis  —  such  a  crisis  as  sets 
self-mastery  beyond  reach  and  puts  concealment 
quite  out  of  the  question.  Even  at  the  theatre  I 
often  find  myself  wishing  for  the  revival  of  the 
Greek  masks  "  — 

"  You  will  never  make  a  novelist  in  the  world  !  " 

"I  have  always  suspected  that,"  observed  the 
Freiherr,  dryly. 


102"  TITfr  LAST  REFUGE 


VII 

Von  Kaltenau  had  been  drawn  to  Taranto  by 
the  magic  of  the  name  and  by  the  recollection 
of  a  silvery  steel  engraving  that  had  hung  for 
years  beneath  a  pair  of  chamois  horns  in  the  great 
hall  at  home.  The  place  justified  his  expecta 
tions  ;  he  became  almost  enthusiastic,  even  without 
aid,  over  the  storied  old  town  perched  there,  be 
tween  its  two  harbors  and  in  its  later  guise  of 
massy  castle  and  towered  cathedral,  upon  the  an 
cient  acropolis  of  Taras.  The  narrow  streets,  the 
white  houses  with  flat  roofs,  the  Greek  jargon  of 
the  sailors  in  back  lanes  —  all  these  were  like  a 
foretaste  of  the  East.  He  looked  in  at  the  arsenal, 
and  sailed  through  the  oyster  beds  of  the  inner 
harbor,  and  visited  one  or  two  gardens  of  an 
Oriental  luxuriance  on  the  mainland. 

"  I  can  rise  to  this,"  he  said,  "  unaided." 

As  he  strolled  along  past  the  balconied  palaces 
of  the  sea  promenade  —  relics  of  the  Spanish  vice 
roys —  and  surveyed  the  capes  and  islands  that 
shut  in  the  greater  harbor  from  the  still  greater 
gulf  without,  and  cast  an  anticipatory  eye  over 
the  Calabrian  mountains  past  which  to-morrow's 
journey  would  lead  him,  an  elderly  person  of  slow 
walk  and  lugubrious  mien  came  toward  him. 

"  He  intends  to  accost  me,"  thought  the  Frei- 
herr.  "  Let  me  speak  first  and  know  the  worst." 

He  stepped  forward  quickly.     "  Sir,"  he  said, 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  103 

"your  mind  is  troubled.  Speak  out,  and  speak 
freely.  Tell  me,  if  you  choose,  the  story  of  your 
life." 

The  other  bowed  gravely,  in  recognition  of  so 
sympathetic  an  approach.  "  What  is  of  concern 
is  not  so  much  the  story  of  my  life,"  he  began, 
thus  tracing  the  first  line  of  another  drawing  in 
the  Freiherr's  collection  of  Portraits  of  Travel, 
44  as  the  condition  under  which  my  life  has  been 
lived.  I  am  a  Just  Man,  but  not  a  happy  one." 

44  That  was  my  impression,"  said  the  Freiherr. 

44 1  have  spent  the  whole  of  my  life  actuated  by 
a  feeling  for  exact  justice.  I  have  lived  all  my 
days  in  the  fullest  rectitude.  I  have  never  taken 
an  unfair  advantage  of  any  one ;  I  have  never 
knowingly  done  any  one  an  injury.  Yet  I  have 
never  been  happy  myself,  nor  have  I  ever  made 
anybody  else  happy.  No  one  cares  for  me ;  no 
one  really  likes  me." 

44  What  of  it  ?  "  inquired  the  Freiherr.  "  There 
is  nothing  greatly  attractive  in  mere  exact  justice. 
I  myself  have  lived  a  fairly  correct  life,  but  I  have 
not  always  had  the  fortune  to  make  myself  well 
liked." 

44  But,  on  the  other  hand,  I  have  met  so  many 
rogues  who  could  please  without  an  effort,  so  many 
fascinating  rascals  who  receive  a  glad  welcome 
where  my  own  studied  conscientiousness  has 
gained  no  response  whatever.  What  is  the  rea 
son  ?  I  have  scoured  the  world  to  find  it." 

44  And  have  got  no  light  ?  " 


104  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  None  whatever  —  as  yet." 

"  That  is  discouraging,  is  it  not  ?  " 

"  I  am  not  sure.  I  have  often  felt  my  situation 
to  resemble  that  of  the  Indian  devotee  who  sits 
meditating  year  after  year  upon  one  sole  matter. 
Time  passes ;  the  years  roll  up ;  the  darkness  of 
doubt  still  encompasses  all;  and  no  appreciable 
advance  is  to  be  observed.  At  last  a  certain  point 
is  reached.  Light  comes,  and  it  comes  all  at  once 
—  there  is  a  plenary  revelation.  The  darkness 
flies,  and  in  the  flooding  brightness  the  meaning 
of  all  things  is  manifest  and  the  comprehension  of 
all  things  is  complete." 

"Do  not  wait,"  said  von  Kaltenau.  "I  have 
the  light  you  look  for  and  will  share  it  with  you. 
If  it  displease  you  to  have  your  question  answered 
by  a  man  younger  than  you,  then  let  me  say  this 
same  answer  came  to  me  yesterday  from  a  man 
still  younger  than  I.  The  softened  impact  of  two 
successive  stages  may  serve  to  "  — 

"  I  am  listening,"  said  the  other,  with  the  do 
cility  of  complete  dejection. 

"  You  are  a  recluse,  I  observe,"  the  Freiherr 
began  ;  "  your  bent  back  shows  it,  and  your  color 
less  face.  You  have  never  participated  ;  you  have 
never  taken  a  hand.  Am  I  right  ?  " 

"  Quite  so." 

"  The  principal  point,  I  take  it,  is  neither  to  be 
just  nor  the  reverse.  The  principal  point  is  to  be 
a  good  human  being,  regardless  of  mere  consid 
erations  of  justice  or  even  of  morality.  Let  the 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  105 

human  sap  flow ;  let  the  blood  course.  Strive  for 
warmth,  for  unction,  and  much  will  be  forgiven, 
—  even  the  errors  committed  and  the  discomforts 
inflicted  by  a  rigid  sense  of  mere  justice.  I  speak 
as  a  theorizer,  upon  hearsay :  I  am  enough  like 
you  to  understand  you." 

"  I  thank  you,"  replied  the  Just  Man.  "  I  shall 
enter  upon  my  Sicilian  journey  with  a  more  con 
tented  mind." 

"  You  are  crossing  over  to  Sicily  ?  "  asked  the 
Freiherr,  dubiously. 

"  Yes.  And  in  that  new  field,  with  your  kind 
observations  held  to  heart,  I  shall  hope  to  work 
the  change  that  may  make  the  world  a  happier 
place  to  me  and  myself  a  happier  man  in  it.  I 
must,  indeed,  or  there  is  no  further  hope  left.  For 
me  this  is  the  Last "  — 

"I  know,  I  know,"  interrupted  the  Freiherr, 
hastily.  "  But  too  many  are  already  travelling 
the  road  you  are  about  to  take.  At  its  end  you 
will  find  nothing  that  you  cannot  find  here,  or  even 
whence  you  set  out.  Turn  back  ;  turn  back.  Learn 
to  smile  before  you  travel  —  at  least  before  you 
travel  in  Sicily." 

VIII 

Metapontum  survives  in  a  few  fragmental  tem 
ples  scattered  widely  over  a  half -tilled  country-side, 
in  a  few  farmhouses  rudely  reared  among  the  saf 
fron-fields  out  of  massive  blocks  pilfered  from  the 
ancient  walls,  in  rows  of  violated  tombs,  and  in 


106  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

traces  of  a  harbor  long  choked  with  sand.  The 
Freiherr,  engaging  a  peasant  and  his  horse,  de 
voted  a  lowering  afternoon  to  the  all  but  vanished 
city  of  Pythagoras. 

Seated  amidst  the  most  remote  of  all  the  ruins 
was  an  old,  old  man.  There  was  nobility  in  his 
long  white  beard,  and  in  the  brooding  eyes  he 
lifted  from  the  temple  pavement  upon  the  sound 
of  approaching  steps. 

He  rose,  as  if  to  welcome  another  stranger  to 
Metapontum's  ruined  and  deserted  fanes ;  he 
seemed  to  feel  that  some  bond  of  sympathy  must 
exist  between  two  men  who  could  come  so  far  to 
see  so  little.  "  What  will  be  the  burden  of  this 
new  plaint,  I  wonder?"  thought  von  Kaltenau. 
"Whatever  it  is,  I  can  bear  it;  for  the  farther 
I  go  the  older  do  people  seem  to  become,  and  I 
myself  the  younger  and  stronger  by  comparison !  " 

The  old  man  had  come  as  far  as  many  others, 
and  had  seen  as  much  by  the  way.  His  journey 
had  wearied  him,  and  he  was  glad  to  rest  the  load 
of  his  years  and  his  disappointments  upon  younger 
shoulders.  The  Freiherr  felt,  with  emotions  curi 
ously  contradictory,  that  he  was  looked  upon  as  a 
mere  boy. 

In  fact,  the  old  man  mused  aloud  before  him, 
almost  as  if  in  the  presence  of  some  careless  and 
uncomprehending  child.  "  I  have  seen  many  men 
and  many  cities,  but  there  is  one  more  city  that  I 
must  see  before  I  die.  Genoa  I  have  seen,  —  Ge- 
nova  la  Superba,  as  they  call  it.  And  Kome  I 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  107 

have  seen,  —  Roma  la  Santa,  as  all  the  world 
names  it.  And  other  cities  I  have  seen  :  la  Ricca, 
la  Dotta,  1'  Industriosa,  and  many  more.  But  let 
la  Superba  pass  —  I  am  now  too  world-worn  for 
pride  ;  and  la  Santa  as  well  —  since,  old  as  I  am, 
I  do  not  yearn  for  sanctity.  Away,  too,  with  la 
Ricca  —  riches  are  nothing  to  me.  And  away 
with  la  Dotta  —  learning  is  but  a  mockery,  a  bur 
den.  And  away  with  1'  Industriosa,  for  the  ener 
gies  of  the  workaday  world  I  left  behind  me  years 
ago.  But  there  is  one  thing  I  long  for  as  hungrily 
as  ever."  He  looked  up  pathetically  at  the  younger 
man  standing  before  him.  "  Let  them  all  pass  — 
la  Ricca,  la  Dotta,  la  Santa,  la  Superba ;  but  vouch 
safe  me  at  least  a  glimpse  of  la  Felice,  the  City  of 
Happiness." 

"  The  Last  Refuge,"  said  the  Freiherr,  softly. 

"  The  Last  Refuge,"  softly  repeated  the  other. 

IX 

The  Freiherr,  speeding  along  the  Calabrian 
coast,  on  his  way  toward  Reggio  and  the  straits 
of  Messina,  devoted  the  long  hours  of  a  threaten 
ing  day  to  a  consideration  of  the  new  cast  that  the 
progress  of  events  had  put  upon  his  journey.  He 
had  begun  with  an  exclusive  interest  in  things ; 
he  was  likely  to  end  with  an  exclusive  interest  in 
persons.  The  gospel  that  had  been  preached  to 
him  by  a  younger  man,  the  gospel  that  he  himself 
had  preached  to  an  older  man,  was  one  that  he 


108  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

was  coming  to  take  with  more  seriousness  than  he 
confessed  even  within  himself,  and  to  hug  more 
closely  to  heart  than  anybody,  but  shortly  before, 
could  have  made  seem  probable  to  him.  The 
proper  study  of  mankind  was  becoming  plain ;  men 
were  fully  as  interesting  as  their  works  ;  person 
alities  counted  for  as  much  as  galleries,  churches, 
gardens.  The  dead  temple  of  Metapontum  was 
of  less  worth  than  the  living  temple  within  it.  He 
passed  in  review  the  other  living  temples  that  had 
come  beneath  his  notice  during  the  past  fortnight : 
the  discontented  Doctor  at  Rome,  the  noxious 
nobleman  at  Borgo  San  Cipriano,  the  lugubrious 
recluse  at  Taranto.  "  They  are  all  moving  my 
way,"  he  thought;  "how  many  of  them  shall  I 
meet  again  ?  "  He  recalled  the  pompous  progress 
of  the  Lady  of  Quality  and  the  reckless  confi 
dences  of  the  sometime  queen  of  tragedy.  Truly 
the  one  was  of  more  interest  than  the  towns 
through  which  she  travelled,  and  the  other  of  more 
interest  than  the  cathedral  before  which  she  sat. 
Here  was  a  field  in  which  the  aid  of  young  Bruno, 
however  alert  he  might  be,  however  feeling,  could 
have  counted  for  but  little.  Donna  Violante  alone, 
of  all  his  new  types,  failed  to  solidify  into  a  con 
crete  image.  She  was  but  a  vague  and  distant 
mirage,  nor  did  he  even  remotely  approach  such 
questions  as  these :  Will  she  become  more  dis 
tinct  ?  Who  will  reveal  her  to  me  ?  And  what 
will  result  for  me  and  for  the  performer  of  that 
friendly  office  ? 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  109 


Over  the  straits  the  contending  powers  of  light 
and  of  shadow  were  at  play;  the  mountain  peaks 
on  both  the  Calabrian  and  Sicilian  sides  were  hid 
den  by  the  gray  masses  of  lowering  clouds ;  slight 
showers  fell  now  and  then,  and  the  narrowing  reach 
of  waters  was  lightened  here  and  there  by  the  long 
lines  of  sunbeams  that  lived  a  precarious  moment 
by  favor  of  the  shifting  heavens.  From  the  quay 
at  Reggio  the  water-front  of  Messina  showed  gray 
or  white  or  golden  as  one  condition  or  another  pre 
vailed  above  and  behind.  And  to  the  northward, 
against  the  deep  blue  curtain  that  rain  and  dis 
tance  drew  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  a  full- 
rigged  bark  shone  like  a  phantom  refreshed  under 
a  rainbow  whose  arch  spanned  the  leaden  reach  of 
waters  from  shore  to  shore. 

The  Freiherr,  about  to  step  aboard  the  steamer, 
became  conscious  of  an  altercation  in  progress 
close  by  upon  the  quay.  It  was  a  controversy  of 
a  type  perfectly  familiar  to  every  Mediterranean 
seaport;  the  disputants  were  a  sturdy  facchino, 
with  the  fluent  command  of  his  native  dialect,  and 
a  woman,  past  her  first  youth,  who  spoke  a  theo 
retical  Tuscan  with  the  accent  of  a  German  and 
the  stiffness  of  a  beginner.  Though  the  woman 
was  by  no  means  young  and  by  no  means  beauti 
ful,  her  detached  position  (she  was  apparently 
quite  alone)  and  her  obvious  inexperience  (she 


110  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

was  plainly  abroad  for  the  first  time)  moved  the 
Freiherr  to  compassion.  He  intervened.  The 
facchino  tenaciously  kept  hold  on  a  certain  worn 
and  unwieldy  portmanteau ;  the  woman  tearfully 
clutched  a  pathetically  thin  little  purse.  "  He 
shall  not  impose  upon  her,"  resolved  the  Freiherr. 
"  Let  me  assist  you,"  he  said,  advancing,  in  Ger 
man. 

The  woman  —  she  was  some  five  years  his  junior 
—  opened  her  brown  eyes  first  with  surprise  and 
then  with  a  great  relief.  He  turned  to  the  man. 
*'  Why  do  you  refuse  to  let  go  this  portmanteau  ?  " 

"  The  signora  refuses  to  pay  me  for  the  trunk." 

"  I  have  no  trunk  !  "  cried  the  signora,  as  soon 
as  the  meaning  of  this  observation  was  made  plain 
to  her.  "  The  trunk  belonged  to  somebody  else. 
I  have  only  that  portmanteau  and  this  handbag." 

"  Well,  then,  my  man,"  said  the  Freiherr,  hand 
ing  him  a  coin,  "  take  this  and  stop  troubling  us." 
The  Freiherr  picked  up  the  shabby,  ill-packed  port 
manteau  and  stepped  aboard.  The  lady  humbly 
followed,  in  an  abject  state  of  gratitude  and  admi 
ration. 

Von  Kaltenau  led  his  protegee  to  a  favorable 
place  on  deck,  sheltered  from  the  weather  yet  open 
to  the  views,  and  his  own  facchini  followed  after. 
"  We  shall  be  nearly  an  hour  in  crossing,  and  you 
might  as  well  take  it  comfortably." 

He  cautiously  looked  her  over.  She  was  a  gen 
tlewoman,  assuredly,  but  one  of  a  very  unusual 
type.  The  pinch  of  poverty  was  plain  upon  her 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  111 

whole  person,  but  the  animating  influence  of  a 
high  and  disinterested  enthusiasm  was  equally 
plain  in  her  face  and  bearing,  as  she  followed  the 
Freiherr  with  a  sprightly,  springy  step  and  threw 
her  head  gallantly  to  right  and  left  over  the  varied 
prospect  of  land  and  sea.  Her  dress  was  travel- 
worn  (there  might  be  another  in  the  bulging  port 
manteau,  or  not),  while  her  gloves  and  even  her 
crackled  boots  were  miracles  of  painstaking  needle 
work  —  stitched,  darned,  patched,  what  not.  Her 
brown  eyes,  though  they  kept  on  opening  in  a 
button-like  surprise  at  every  slight  attention  from 
the  Freiherr,  contrived  to  have  a  soft  expression 
of  their  own,  —  a  limpid,  virginal,  inexperienced 
glance,  as  from  the  eyes  of  Innocence  herself.  She 
set  down  her  handbag,  and  teased  the  forefinger  of 
one  of  her  time-worn  gloves,  and  apologized  with 
a  sincere,  unaffected  humility  for  the  trouble  she 
had  given. 

"  Only  a  few  soldi,  I  know,"  she  said.  "  But 
every  soldo  counts.  It  shall.  It  must." 

"  You  are  quite  right,"  said  the  Freiherr,  "  not 
to  allow  yourself  to  be  imposed  upon." 

Continuing  in  the  habit  he  had  lately  formed, 
he  gave  his  new  charge  —  she  was  still  such,  for 
he  must  see  her  through  like  troubles  at  Messina 
—  abundant  opportunity  to  account  for  herself ; 
he  even  asked  a  few  questions.  But  Mam'zelle 
Hedwig  appeared  to  have  no  undue  consciousness 
of  her  own  personality,  and  no  particular  dissatis 
factions  to  air.  Her  remarks  were  of  the  most 


112  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

general  nature,  and  the  Freiherr  was  left  at  liberty 
to  construct  her  character  and  her  environment  for 
himself. 

This,  during  the  passage,  he  did.  He  referred 
Mam'zelle  Hedwig  back,  then,  to  the  remotest  and 
bleakest  of  the  German  cantons  of  Switzerland, 
where  a  large  family  lived  under  a  small  roof,  — 
small,  but  historic  and  respectable,  —  and  received 
visits  from  the  pastor  and  the  burgomaster  of  the 
town  hard  by.  She  was  not  the  only  daughter, 
nor  the  youngest,  and  she  had  lingered  long  be 
fore  detaching  herself,  even  temporarily,  from  the 
family  tree.  Thrift  was  the  watchword  of  the 
household,  and  every  penny  was  accounted  for. 
He  figured  her  as  skimped  and  pinched  a  little, 
browbeaten  a  good  deal,  and  subordinated  habitu 
ally  by  impatient  and  tyrannical  brothers,  —  "  else 
why  should  small  services  call  forth  so  much  sur 
prise  and  gratitude  ?  "  A  consuming  desire  for 
travel  in  Italy  had  come  upon  her  early  —  this 
was  according  to  her  own  account  and  in  corre 
spondence  with  her  every  action.  She  had  hoarded 
her  small  savings  for  years,  some  kind  relative  had 
perhaps  good-naturedly  increased  her  little  store, 
and  here  she  was.  All  this  the  Freiherr  surmised, 
and  in  the  main  his  surmises  were  correct. 

"  Ah,  Sicily,  Sicily  !  "  Mam'zelle  cried  time  and 
again  during  the  crossing.  "  At  last  I  see  it !  At 
last!  At  last!" 

She  was  in  a  state  of  exaltation  and  made  no 
effort  to  conceal  it.  The  Freiherr  wondered  whe- 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  113 

ther  even  young  Bruno  cle'  Brtmelli  could  dis 
charge  his  enthusiasm  with  more  elan. 

"It  will  be  the  crown  of  my  whole  journey," 
she  cried.  "  It  will  repay  me  for  everything !  " 

"  For  disappointments,  for  disenchantments  ?  " 
suggested  the  Freiherr. 

"  Disenchantments  ?     I  have  met  none !  " 

"  Hardships,  then." 

"  Hardships  ?  Even  the  hardships  of  travel  are 
pleasures ! " 

"Then  Sicily  is  not  your  Last  Refuge?" 

Mam'zelle  stared  at  him  in  frank  wonder. 
"  Refuge  ?  Refuge  from  what,  pray  ?  " 

The  abashed  Freiherr  murmured  some  unintelli 
gible  reply. 

"  Refuge  ?  "  repeated  Mam'zelle  Hedwig.  "  Re 
fuge  from  unkindness  ?  But  everybody  has  been 
most  considerate.  Refuge  from  poverty?  But 
I  am  not  poor  —  I  still  have  eight  hundred  and 
seventy-three  francs  left,  and  fifteen  centimes. 
Refuge  from  the  years?  But  I  am  only  thirty- 
five  —  and  a  few  weeks,  —  and  do  not  feel  a  day 
older.  Refuge  from  the  beauties  of  this  glorious 
world  ?  Should  I  turn  to  Sicily  for  that  ?  Rejec 
tion  of  the  best  of  all  good  omens  ?  "  she  con 
cluded,  pointing  to  the  rainbow  arched  above 
them.  "  I  'm  sure  I  hardly  know  what  you  may 
mean." 

The  Freiherr  was  much  impressed  and  much 
pleased  by  these  observations.  He  was  much 
benefited  by  them  too;  they  had  a  tonic  quality 


114  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

of  which  he  stood  much  in  need.  The  woman 
now  gathering  up  her  meagre  belongings  to  land  at 
Messina  was  vastly  different  from  the  woman  who 
had  contended  with  the  porter  at  Reggio;  never 
a  metamorphosis  more  sudden,  more  complete. 
Mam'zelle's  handbag  had  lost  half  its  shabbiness ; 
even  her  boots  seemed  much  less  incredible  than 
at  first. 

Messina  drew  near.  The  steamer  came  to  its 
moorings.  Mam'zelle  prepared  to  sink  into  new 
abysses  of  gratitude.  But  this  time  she  was  not  to 
have  an  undivided  attention.  On  the  wharf  stood 
Bruno ;  and  the  Freiherr,  catching  a  glimpse  of 
him,  failed  to  read  in  his  face  any  indication  of 
favorable  news. 

XI 

Von  Kaltenau  put  Mam'zelle  into  a  cab  whose 
driver  could  be  trusted  not  to  charge  for  a  non 
existent  trunk  and  saw  her  set  off  for  a  hotel  that 
was  well  within  her  means.  Mam'zelle  had  no 
false  shame  and  no  fastidiousness.  She  had  de 
termined  to  cut  the  largest  possible  coat  out  of  the 
meagre  patch  of  cloth  at  her  disposal,  and  had  be 
come  a  past  mistress  in  all  that  relates  to  shifts 
and  economies.  The  Freiherr  passed  her  later  in 
the  day.  She  was  roaming  rapturously  up  and 
down  the  Marina,  assisting  in  the  loading  and  un 
loading  of  brigs  and  schooners  from  Syracuse  or 
Zante,  ordering  the  departure  of  the  different 
ferry-boats,  trafficking  gingerly  with  the  venders 


STILL  SOUTHWARD  115 

of  anise-water  and  dried  pumpkin  seeds,  and  draw 
ing  beads  upon  the  varying  vistas  that  were 
opened  up  by  the  straits  and  closed  by  the  Cala- 
brian  mountains. 

Bruno,  after  a  fleeting  glance  of  wonder  at  the 
Freiherr's  new  familiar,  reverted  to  his  own  pre 
occupations.  He  followed  von  Kaltenau  across 
the  wide  quay  to  the  hotel  and  gave  him  an  ac 
count  of  the  developments  of  the  past  week  from 
a  second  story  balcony  that  overlooked  the  busy 
harbor  below. 

The  inexorable  parents  of  Donna  Violante,  it 
transpired,  had  not  been  content  with  any  half 
measures.  They  had  paused  at  Messina  but  a 
day,  and  then  had  taken  her  home  —  to  the  capital, 
where  they  now  were. 

"  And  where  they  will  remain,"  remarked  the 
Freiherr.  "  Solid  ground  for  you  at  last.  You 
will  follow  immediately,  of  course." 

"  Follow  immediately  ?  I  left  there  only  last 
evening ! " 

"  Is  Malevento  with  them  ?  " 

"  Not  so  far  as  I  can  learn." 

"  You  have  seen  "  — 

"  I  have  seen  her  father.  I  forced  my  way  to 
him  and  braved  him  under  his  own  roof.  An  in 
fernally  cross-grained,  sour-tempered,  obstinate  old 
villain !  " 

"  You  speak  freely." 

"  I  spoke  freely  then,  too.  I  told  him  what  I 
wanted,  who  I  was,  and  in  more  guarded  terms 


116  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

what  I  hoped  to  be.  He  laughed  in  my  face  —  in 
just  the  fashion  that  a  cross-grained,  sour-tempered 
man  would.  What  was  there  for  me  to  do  ?  Who 
am  I,  after  all,  if  one  must  know  with  full  pre 
cision  ?  " 

"  You  have  not  seen  the  notaries  and  all  the 
rest?" 

"Yes,  yes,"  returned  Bruno,  beating  the 
balcony-rail  impatiently  with  his  fist ;  "  both  here 
and  there.  Difficulties,  delays,  exactions,  post 
ponements,  documents,  depositions.  The  whole 
thing  is  still  in  the  clouds."  He  sent  his  exas 
perated  glance  ranging  up  and  down  the  crowded 
Marina  and  over  the  swarming  harbor. 

"  H'm,'r  replied  the  Freiherr,  thoughtfully,  as 
he  wondered  what  the  letters  awaiting  him  at  his 
banker's  might  contain.  "  But  /  have  come,  and 
within  three  days  at  the  outside  we  shall  have 
brought  the  whole  thing  down  to  earth." 


PART  IV.  — THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE 


BELRIGUABDO  lies  high  above  the  sea,  sur 
rounded  by  vineyards  and  by  groves  of  orange- 
trees  and  olives  and  almonds  and  mulberries. 
Above  it  rise  heights  covered  by  the  ilex  and  by 
towering  groups  of  stone  pines  —  heights  that  lead 
to  the  crowning  height  of  all,  clothed  with  forests 
of  beech  and  of  oak.  Before  it  the  ground  slopes 
easily,  in  limestone  reaches  abloom  with  the  rock- 
rose  and  the  purple  cytisus,  down  to  the  brows  of 
cliffs  and  promontories  that  make  their  sudden 
descent  to  the  scant  shingle  of  the  shore.  From 
Belriguardo's  vast  terrace  one  sees  the  goats  brows 
ing  among  the  tamarisks  and  sumachs  that  fringe 
the  rocky  headlands,  and  the  sails  of  the  sardine- 
fishers  moving  busily  over  the  wide  expanse  of 
blue  water  ;  and  the  long  line  of  coast  —  bold  and 
broken,  yet  suave  withal  —  shows  here  a  church, 
there  a  Saracen  watch-tower,  —  on  one  height  the 
ruins  of  a  Xorman  castle,  on  another  the  frag- 
mental  tombs  and  temples  of  some  immemorial 
city  of  the  Greeks. 

Belriguardo  itself  is  a  Sicily  in  miniature.  Every 
period  of  foreign  domination  has  left  its  mark 


118  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

there ;  no  time  throughout  the  long  procession  of 
the  changing  years  remains  unrepresented  in  this 
picturesque  conglomerate.  The  great  courtyard, 
with  its  coupled  columns  and  its  ponderous  round 
arches  done  in  billet  and  dog-tooth  mouldings,  is 
Norman  ;  the  well-curb  set  in  the  middle  of  it  is 
Byzantine.  The  long  banquet-hall  dates  from  the 
days  of  the  Spanish  viceroys  and  is  heavy  with  the 
stately  pomp  of  Aragon.  The  great  terrace,  with 
its  noble  rampes  and  balustrades,  marks  a  happy 
moment  in  the  period  of  the  high  Renaissance, 
though  the  fountain-basins  and  fish-ponds  below 
it  are  wilfully,  perversely  baroque.  The  big  tower 
that  dominates  all  claims  a  late  Roman  origin  for 
its  foundation  stones ;  and  a  bit  of  terra-cotta  dug 
up  one  day  near  its  base  —  a  bull-headed  god  with 
eyes  slyly  aslant  —  might  easily  pass  for  a  relic  of 
Phoanician  Carthage.  The  tiny  oratory  was  once 
a  mosque.  Its  christianized  walls  still  show  here 
and  there  the  outlines  of  a  Moorish  arch,  and  in 
more  than  one  dusky  corner  a  shred  of  honeycomb 
work  survives  to  give  a  slight  impetus  to  the  circu 
lation  of  orthodox  blood.  The  pleasance,  whose 
rose-thickets  are  peopled  with  the  lichened  statues 
of  marble  divinities,  is  gayly  and  irresponsibly 
rococo,  while  the  long  laurel-walks,  festooned  with 
jasmin  and  eglantine,  are  joyously  of  to-day.  Such 
is  the  domain  that  the  Freiherr  has  bespoken  for 
young  Bruno,  until  something  better  shall  be  his, 
—  such  the  stately  and  storied  pile  wherein  the 
new  duke  of  Montegrifone  has  gallantly  resolved 
to  keep  open  house  for  the  ensuing  fortnight. 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   119 

Bruno,  on  his  first  view  of  Belriguardo,  had  not 
been  able  to  suppress  a  cry  of  delight.  It  lay 
three  or  four  miles  away,  over  rolling  uplands 
sprinkled  with  holm-oaks  and  carobs,  and  was  first 
seen  from  an  ancient  Roman  bridge  whose  arch 
spanned  a  rugged  ravine  overgrown  with  lentisks 
and  arbutus.  The  tall  tower  that  ruled  his  new 
estate  rose  level  with  a  group  of  cypresses  just 
behind,  and  the  long  front  of  the  terrace,  catching 
the  late  afternoon  sun,  drew  a  broad  foundation 
line  of  white  for  the  varied  facade  above. 

As  they  paused  on  the  bridge  to  view  this  en 
chanting  spectacle  —  even  more  enchanting  to  the 
landed  proprietor  than  to  the  lover  of  nature  — 
they  heard  the  sound  of  hoofs  and  wheels,  and  pre 
sently  a  train  of  coaches  and  lettigas  came  in  sight 
at  a  bend  in  the  road,  and  halted  just  short  of  our 
travelers. 

These  conveyances  had  the  ornate  and  stately 
character  of  the  early  years  of  the  century  —  they 
were  covered  with  carving  and  gilding  ;  and  the 
trappings  of  the  mules  and  horses  showed  such  an 
utter  abandon  in  the  way  of  bell,  braid,  and  tassel 
as  Sicily,  and  Sicily  alone,  is  capable  of.  The 
numerous  persons  who  dismounted  from  coach  or 
saddle  seemed  to  date  from  a  period  hardly  less 
distant,  and  to  display  a  taste  scarce  less  ornate. 
They  appeared  to  compose  the  household  of  a  great 
provincial  magnate  whose  estates  were  too  remote 
to  be  influenced  by  mere  passing  fashions,  and 
whose  mode  of  living  was  firmly  grounded  upon 


120  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  ceremonial  and  the  traditions  of  an  ancient 
and  well-established  procedure.  These  various  per 
sons  advanced  gravely  in  a  body  and  performed 
their  deferential  salutes  before  Bruno  de'  Brunelli, 
now  the  Duca  di  Montegrifone. 

The  Freiherr,  rapidly  passing  them  in  review, 
thought  he  distinguished  a  major-domo,  a  steward, 
a  head  gardener,  a  master  of  the  horse,  —  the  estab 
lishment  was  apparently  of  a  state  and  magnitude 
to  support  such  an  official,  —  and  numerous  valets 
and  grooms.  There  was  also  a  dignified  house 
keeper,  and  close  beside  her  was  a  sprightly  young 
thing  in  a  red  petticoat,  who  seemed  at  once  very 
demure  and  extraordinarily  self-possessed.  She 
stole  glances  at  Bruno  in  a  humorous,  yet  critical 
way,  and  when  she  had  looked  him  over  she  looked 
him  over  again.  "  A  lady's-maid,"  said  the  Frei 
herr  to  himself.  "  Has  Filippo,  with  all  his  other 
gifts,  the  gift  of  clairvoyance  ?  " 

Bruno  looked  in  turn  at  the  young  thing  stand 
ing  there  in  her  short  petticoat  and  her  laced  bod 
ice  with  a  surprise  that  soon  passed  into  admiration. 
The  Freiherr,  studying  the  others  meanwhile,  no 
ticed  that  one  of  them,  the  major-domo,  in  knee- 
breeches,  white  silk  stockings,  and  a  hat  and 
waistcoat  de  fantaisie,  was  staring  at  him  with 
a  significant  fixity,  and  that  the  stare  was  now  and 
then  reinforced  by  a  slight  lifting  of  the  eyebrows. 
Von  Kaltenau  looked  at  the  fellow  once  again,  and 
was  much  surprised,  and  not  a  little  disconcerted, 
to  find  in  him  the  Marchese  Capoameno  himself. 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE        121 


II 

"  My  dear  Filippo,"  the  Freiherr  found  oppor 
tunity  to  say  to  the  Marchese  as  the  caravan  was 
returning  to  Belriguardo,  "  you  have  quite  outdone 
yourself.  I  hardly  dare  ask  you  who  all  these 
other  people  are." 

The  Marchese  gave  a  frank  laugh  —  Bruno 
being  out  of  sight  and  hearing.  "  The  head  postil 
lion  is  young  Count  Cervel-Balzano ;  he  has  come 
fifteen  miles  to  share  in  this,  and  contributes  one 
of  the  coaches.  The  groom  riding  behind  us  on 
the  big  black  mare  is  the  most  promising  of  my 
nephews." 

"  And  the  ladies  ?  "  inquired  the  Freiherr,  cau 
tiously.  "  The  —  the  —  housekeeper,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Housekeeper  ;  quite  right.  That  stately  per 
son  is  my  aunt,  and  she  has  jumped  into  the  part 
in  a  very  young  and  spirited  fashion." 

"  And  the  —  the  young  lady  in  bodice  and  short 
petticoat?" 

"  That  is  my  irrepressible  sister.  She  was  for 
coming,  at  first,  as  one  of  the  kitchen-boys,  in 
white  cap  and  apron ;  I  believe  she  even  meditated 
carrying  along  a  spoon.  But  all  that,  of  course, 
I  could  n't  quite  permit,  and  to  soften  her  disap 
pointment  I  allowed  her  to  join  us  as  a  lady's- 
maid.  You  have  seen  the  result  of  our  compro 
mise  ;  what  do  you  think  of  it?" 

"  Most  charming,  but "  — 


122  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  But  what  ?  Ah,  I  see :  you  mean  that,  there 
being  no  ladies  in  your  party  "  — 

"  Ha !  "  said  the  Freiherr,  "  if  that  is  a  deficiency 
it  is  like  enough  to  be  made  good.  My  *  but '  was 
a  much  more  comprehensive  one  than  that." 

"  Explain." 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  returned  the  Freiherr,  ear 
nestly,  "  you  have  done  altogether  too  much  for  me. 
Your  fancy,  your  invention,  your  taste  for  histri 
onics,  your  passion  for  representation  —  well,  I 
can  only  hope  that  they  won't  involve  you  in  too 
extreme  an  embarrassment.  This  whim,  this  sud 
den  impulse  —  I  can  but  trust  that  we  ourselves 
may  not  be  the  means  of  punishing  you  for  it. 
For  we,  such  as  you  see  us,  are,  as  I  fear,  but  the 
advance  guard  of  a  vast  horde.  We  have  jour 
neyed  south  with  them  —  some  of  them.  They  all 
seem  to  be  moving  toward  one  common  objective 
point,  and  you,  my  poor  friend,  are  exactly  in  the 
line  of  the  storm.  The  hurricane  will  sweep  over 
you ;  the  swarm  of  locusts  will  darken  your  sun 
and  devour  your  substance.  My  dear  Filippo,  we 
are  now  conspicuous  ;  we  have  become  celebrated ; 
we  are  close  to  the  king's  highway,  and  we  are 
likely  to  see  some  strange  people." 

Capoameno  laughed  again.  "  Let  them  come. 
When  may  the  first  locust  be  looked  for  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  or  the  day  after.  In  fact,  she  is 
the  only  one  that  we  have  distinctly  invited  —  the 
rest  will  find  us  without  an  invitation." 

"  Ah,  the  first  locust  is  a  lady  ?  She  is  young 
and  charming,  I  hope." 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE        123 

"  You  may  determine  for  yourself.  As  for  her 
age,  it  is  a  little  less  than  yours  or  mine.  As  for 
her  charm,  it  lies  altogether  in  a  fresh  and  sensi 
tive  mind,  in  a  highly  poetical  imagination,  and  in 
a  hardy  determination  to  idealize  everything  and 
everybody.  I  invite  her  here  for  her  tonic  quality ; 
of  all  my  recent  acquaintances  she  is  the  only  one 
that  has  done  me  any  good.  She  will  come  pre 
pared  to  throw  a  roseate  glamour  over  Belriguardo 
and  every  one  about  it." 

"  Shall  I  be  able  to  idealize  her  ?  " 

"  I  should  think  the  better  of  you  for  trying." 

"A  compatriot?" 

"Almost." 

"  A  matron  ?  " 

"  N— no." 

"  Oh,  you  of  the  North  !  I  shall  never  under 
stand  you  !  But  I  will  exchange  roseate  glamours 
with  this  idealizing  maid  to  the  best  of  my  ability. 
Yet  stay ;  dare  I  look  so  high  —  I,  a  mere  ser 
vant?" 

The  Freiherr  laughed,  a  little  constrainedly. 
"  My  poor  Filippo,  you  have  put  yourself  in  a 
false  position,  and  you  will  not  be  allowed  to  for 
get  it.  Here  is  one  slight  check ;  but  there  will 
be  a  hundred  more  checks  and  embarrassments  to 
follow!" 


124  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


III 

Bruno  slipped  smoothly  into  his  new  life,  with 
all  its  splendors,  its  promises  of  pleasure,  and  its 
many  manifestations  of  deference  and  obsequious 
ness.  He  heard  himself  hailed  daily,  hourly,  as 
"  Eccellenza,"  and  easily  came  to  take  this  lofty 
appellation  as  a  matter  of  course.  The  duties  and 
obligations  of  his  new  station  were  temporarily  set 
aside  —  and  properly  enough,  all  things  considered 
—  for  its  enjoyments;  and  the  grandson  of  the 
mountain  chieftain  readily  assumed  the  arrogant 
tone  of  command,  and  stretched  out  an  imperious 
hand  to  gather  the  first-fruits  of  the  new  dispen 
sation. 

Von  Kaltenau,  considering  that  at  last  he  had 
set  his  ^Eolian  harp  to  the  most  advantageous 
breeze,  lent  an  attentive  ear  to  the  forthcoming 
harmony.  The  harmony  came,  indeed,  but  in  a 
grandiose  and  complicated  mode  that  intimidated 
rather  than  pleased ;  and  a  subtle  threat  of  dis 
cord  was  never  absent  from  its  tones. 

The  Marchese,  who  had  rushed  into  his  whimsi 
cal  masque  on  the  impulse  of  a  moment,  had  never 
paused  to  consider  how  it  would  seem  to  be  super 
seded  —  even  for  a  week  or  two  —  as  master  in  his 
own  house.  Bruno  had  come  into  an  old  place 
with  a  fresh  eye,  a  youthful  love  of  change  for  its 
own  sake,  and  a  very  definite  intention  of  making 
his  force  felt.  He  was  impressed  by  some  of  the 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    125 

traditional  observances,  but  did  not  hesitate  to 
direct  alterations  in  others,  and  his  orders  to  the 
Marchese  himself,  relative  to  changes  in  stable 
and  garden,  required  much  finesse  and  ingenuity 
to  evade. 

As  for  the  Marchesina  Lucetta,  this  lively  young 
person  soon  found  herself  tiring  of  the  position 
into  which  her  brother's  esprit  and  her  own  high 
spirits  had  led  her.  The  short  petticoat  and  the 
laced  bodice  palled  by  the  second  day,  and  by  the 
morning  of  the  third  the  coquettish  little  head 
dress  upon  her  fluffy  locks  weighed  like  a  veritable 
cap  of  penitence.  Bruno  looked  upon  her  with  as 
much  admiration  as  her  beauty  demanded,  but 
treated  her  with  no  more  consideration  than  her 
apparent  station  in  life  justified.  His  compli 
ments  had  more  heartiness  than  delicacy.  Her 
little  dream  of  a  spirited  young  seigneur  who 
should  treat  her  at  once  with  the  delicious  ease 
and  freedon  that  a  lady's-maid  might  call  out  and 
the  deference  proper  to  gallant  converse  with  a 
marchioness,  slowly  dissolved. 

The  Freiherr  soon  noticed  the  growing  tension 
of  the  situation  ;  clearly,  things  could  not  remain 
as  they  were.  The  arrival  of  Bruno's  first  guest 
brought  matters  to  a  head.  Yon  Kaltenau  was 
actually  in  conference  with  the  Marchese  and  his 
sister  when  the  earliest  requisition  upon  the  hospi 
tality  of  Belriguardo  was  seen  to  impend.  This 
conference  took  place  in  one  of  the  obscurer  cor 
ners  of  the  great  terrace  —  in  direct  defiance  of 


126  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  Marchese's  own  orders  forbidding  the  servants 
to  show  themselves  in  that  quarter  —  behind  a 
friendly  camellia  standing  on  the  balustrade  in  its 
big  earthen  pot.  Suddenly,  from  the  road  at  the 
bottom  of  the  hill-slope,  came  the  light  patter  of 
hoofs,  the  jingle  of  bells,  and  the  whoop  of  a  boy 
ish  voice.  The  Freiherr,  looking  through  an  open 
ing  among  the  oleanders,  caught  sight  of  a  head 
bobbing  on  with  gay  good-will,  and  a  moment 
later,  when  the  wall  along  the  roadway  fell  to  a 
lower  level,  there  was  revealed  the  spectacle  of 
Mam'zelle  Hedwig,  intrepid  and  unconventional, 
advancing  upon  Belriguardo  on  the  back  of  a 
small  donkey. 

"  Ah,"  cried  the  Freiherr,  "  it  is  the  admirable 
Mam'zelle !  She  said  she  would  come,  and  here 
she  is  ! " 

"  The  —  the  lady  you  spoke  of  ?  "  asked  Filippo, 
with  a  smile ;  but  it  was  a  smile  that  had  some 
little  touch  of  coldness  round  the  edge.  He  looked 
out  again  at  the  travel-stained  rider,  the  ragged 
beast,  the  dusty  child  scuffling  behind.  "  Lucetta, 
go  get  your  whisk-broom." 

The  Marchesina  did  not  respond  to  this  ironical 
sally.  The  Freiherr  rushed  in  to  forestall  an  out 
break  of  vexation. 

"  All  this  can  really  go  no  farther,"  he  declared ; 
"  you  must  set  yourselves  in  a  different  light  —  one 
in  better  accord  with  your  real  position.  You  have 
degraded  yourselves  quite  enough  ;  let  it  be  mine 
to  help  you  reconquer  your  lost  gentility." 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    127 

"But  how?"  asked  the  Marchesina,  with  a 
rueful  pout. 

"  Like  this.  Having  disguised  yourselves  once, 
there  is  nothing  for  you  to  do  but  to  disguise  your 
selves  again.  Having  begun  as  gentry  playing  at 
being  servants,  you  must  now  go  on  as  servants 
playing  at  being  gentry.  In  other  words,  the 
household  staff  of  the  Duke  of  Montegrifone  will 
now  appear  as  his  guests.  They  will  be  expected 
to  dress  and  to  behave  so  as  to  give  a  reasonably 
good  imitation  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  —  though 
not  too  good  a  one !  " 

"  Ah  !  "  said  Capoameno,  thoughtfully  ;  "  it 
sounds  complicated." 

"  How  else  can  you  eat  at  your  own  table  ?  " 

"  And  imitations  by  imitations,"  complained 
Lucetta ;  "  how  can  they  be  expected  to  deceive  ?  " 

"In  what  other  way,  signorina,  can  you  get 
back  into  long  skirts  and  escape  the  thraldom  of 
the  whisk-broom  ?  Eeally,  it  is  the  only  way  out ; 
indeed,  I  consider  you  fortunate  to  get  off  so 
lightly  from  the  consequences  of  such  a  grave  in 
discretion.  Come,  my  dear  friend,"  —  to  Filippo, 
—  "  this  will  enable  you  to  ride  your  own  horses, 
though  only  when  the  Duke  suggests  it.  And 
you,  signorina,  may  then  dine  at  the  table  in  the 
banquet-hall  (there  will  be  banquets,  I  assure 
you)  instead  of  merely  nibbling  cold  things  in  the 
pantry  afterwards." 

"  Ah !  "  gasped  the  Marchesina. 

"  Come,"  said  the  Freiherr,  "  let  me  ask  the 
Duke  to  direct  you  to  " 


128  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Direct ! "  muttered  Filippo,  appreciatively. 

—  "to  direct  you  to  impersonate  his  guests. 
We  need  a  few  —  particularly  a  lady.  Will  you 
condemn  the  perfectly  worthy  person  who  is  now 
approaching  "  —  another  ringing  whoop  from  the 
ragged  boy  in  the  dust-cloud  — "  to  be  the  only 
lady  in  the  house?  I  trust  not.  I  don't  know 
where  her  baggage  is,"  he  went  on,  while  he 
looked  searchingly  across  the  hundred  yards  that 
intervened ;  "  but  I  assure  you  that  she  is  a  per 
son  of  the  warmest  enthusiasms  and  the  most  deli 
cate  sensibilities;  and  if  her  mode  of  approach 
seems  to  savor  of  an  Oriental  primitiveness,  please 
bear  in  mind  that  it  is  in  accord  with  the  best 
Saracenic  traditions.  Hear  me ;  whatever  you  can 
offer  her  of  grace,  distinction,  gayety,  and  kindli 
ness  —  even  if  but  travestied  —  will  no  more  than 
meet  the  generous  conceptions  she  has  already 
formed  of  the  Sicilian  nobility.  My  dear  Filippo, 
be  a  gentleman  !  My  dear  signorina  Marchesina, 
let  me  beg  you  to  be  a  lady!  I  am  sure  the  Duke, 
your  master,  will  interpose  no  objections.  Think 
of  the  benefits  to  yourselves !  Think  of  the  ad 
vantages  to  our  approaching  guests!  Think  of 
the  magnificent  impression  upon  the  Duke  him 
self,  when  he  sees  that  in  Sicily  even  the  major- 
domos  and  the  tiring-maids  may  take  on  signorial 
modes  and  manners  !  Oblige  me !  " 

The  Marchese  laughed  loud  and  long.  Donna 
Lucetta  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  gave  a  little 
grimace. 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    129 

"  You  think,"  she  said,  "  that  after  deliberately 
throwing  away  the  loaf,  we  ought  to  be  thankful 
for  any  crumbs  we  can  collect  ?  " 

"  Precisely,"  said  the  Freiherr. 

"  We  thank  you,"  said  Capoameno,  with  a 
low  obeisance.  "  Pray  plead  our  cause  with  his 
Grace." 

IV 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  Theodor,"  said  Bruno,  in 
reply  to  the  Freiherr's  suggestion.  "  Mani'zelle 
is  a  most  estimable  woman,  and"  —with  an  ap 
preciable  swelling  of  grandeur  —  "I  am  willing 
to  take  any  step  to  insure  her  against  the  slightest 
embarrassment.  Even  were  she  not  a  friend  of 
yours  "  — 

"  Dear  me  !  "  murmured  the  Freiherr ;  "  a 
friend  of  mine."  He  noticed,  too,  that  Bruno  had 
called  him  Theodor,  —  for  the  first  time. 

Still  it  was  evident  that  Bruno  saw  none  too 
clearly  the  reason  for  such  sudden  solicitude  about 
Mam'zelle's  sensibilities.  Mam'zelle,  as  far  as  he 
had  observed  during  those  three  days  at  Messina, 
had  knocked  about  with  a  good  deal  of  freedom 
—  sometimes  with  the  two  men,  sometimes  alone. 
She  had  seen  everything  she  wanted  to  see  and 
had  gone  everywhere  she  wanted  to  go,  had  shaped 
a  sturdy  course  alike  by  daylight  and  dark,  and  all 
the  time  taken  thoroughly  good  care  of  herself. 
"  Rather  late  for  such  delicate  scruples,"  thought 
Bruno. 


130  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

However,  he  liked  Mam'zelle  almost  as  much  as 
von  Kaltenau  liked  her.  Her  interest  in  things 
kept  up  even  after  his  own  had  begun  to  flag ;  her 
enthusiasm  plashed  like  a  perennial  fountain  over 
gardens,  galleries,  churches,  scenery,  street-life,  and 
everything  else,  and  washed  away  the  last  touch  of 
the  grimy,  the  commonplace,  the  sordid,  the  over- 
familiar.  But  what  pleased  him  more  than  all 
was  the  unceasing  homage  of  Mam'zelle's  grati 
tude.  Mere  civil  toleration  was  something  for 
her  to  be  thankful  for ;  the  slightest  act  of  kind 
ness  was  enough  to  startle  her ;  while  he  who  did 
for  her  a  studied,  conscious  favor  must  be  agile 
indeed  to  get  himself  away  from  before  gratitude's 
opening  floodgates.  "  Really,"  said  Bruno,  in  one 
of  his  least  egotistical  moments,  "  I  hardly  see  how 
she  could  have  come  along  so  far  without  receiving 
more  appreciation." 

On  Mam'zelle's  account,  then,  Bruno  agreed  to 
receive  certain  members  of  his  household  staff  at 
his  own  table.  "  Let  them  dress  as  well  as  they 
know  how,  and  let  them  confer  upon  themselves 
such  titles  as  they  please  —  though  I  should  prefer 
to  have  no  one  above  the  rank  of  count.  But  little 
Lucetta  shall  have  carte  blanche  ;  I  shall  be  very 
glad  to  see  what  the  young  minx  can  do.  She 
may  call  herself  whatever  she  pleases,  and  wear 
anything  that  she  can  lay  her  hands  on." 

Mam  zelle  first  met  her  host  and  her  fellow- 
guests  at  dinner.  And  among  these  was  one  more 
pilgrim  from  the  north.  For  just  at  twilight,  a 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    131 

tall  yellow  cart,  painted  with  the  loves  of  Rinaldo 
and  Arrnida,  cast  a  wheel  before  the  gates  of  Bel- 
riguardo,  and  the  vetturino  begged  on  behalf  of 
his  employer  the  hospitality  of  the  coachyard  and 
the  services  of  a  smith.  The  occupant  of  the 
vehicle,  a  tall  grave  personage,  leaned  composedly 
against  a  barrow  while  the  work  of  repair  went 
on.  He  gave  no  account  of  himself,  and  would 
have  passed  on  unrecognized  had  not  the  Freiherr, 
by  some  happy  chance,  found  himself  in  that  re 
mote  quarter  of  Bruno's  new  possessions.  Though 
the  traveler  was  without  his  legal  gown  and 
showed  no  wine-stain  on  his  cheek,  the  Freiherr 
detected  him  for  Dottore  Balanzoni  of  the  Italian 
Comedy,  and  smiled  at  recollection  of  the  Astro- 
fiammante  ball,  and  laughed  for  thought  of  Filippo, 
and  gave  the  newcomer  a  hearty  welcome. 

At  this  first  dinner  Mam'zelle  received  a  plea 
sing  impression,  and  made  one.  She  had  brought 
her  portmanteau  with  her,  after  all.  It  had  hung 
on  the  other  side  of  the  donkey,  where,  while  out 
of  sight,  it  had  formed  the  suitable  counterweight 
to  Mam'zelle  herself;  and  it  yielded,  through 
some  pre-dated  miracle  of  packing,  a  costume  that 
would  pass  muster  on  such  an  occasion,  —  a  frock 
of  somewhat  naive  brilliancy  and  an  unexception 
able  pair  of  boots. 

The  dinner  moved  on  in  formal,  stately  fashion, 
and  Mam'zelle,  who  had  never  before  in  her  life 
come  within  miles  of  private  splendor,  —  she  had  al 
ways  seen  her  palaces  by  paying  fees,  —  luxuriated 


132  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

in  the  beauty  of  all  the  appointments,  particularly 
the  candelabra,  and  in  the  slow  pomp  of  the  ser 
vice.  Most  of  her  fellow-guests  were  quiet  per 
sons,  who  looked  down  a  good  deal  at  their  plates ; 
their  dress  and  their  manner  made  them  seem. like 
poor  connections  receiving  the  bounty  of  an  opu 
lent  lord.  Particularly  did  the  costumes  of  Filippo 
and  his  sister  carry  out  this  idea.  They  had  en 
tered  upon  the  second  stage  of  their  masquerade 
with  renewed  gusto,  and  had  attempted  to  express 
the  last  refinements  of  shabby  gentility.  Filippo 
founded  his  efforts  upon  a  cast-off  suit  borrowed 
from  his  wondering  credenziere;  Lucetta  appeared 
in  a  marvel  of  frazzled  dowdiness  that  a  former 
maid  had  disdainfully  left  behind.  They  slyly 
looked  at  each  other  askant,  wondering  if,  after 
all,  they  had  made  any  appreciable  advance. 

The  Freiherr  was  soon  deep  in  talk  with  Balan- 
zoni ;  while  Bruno  —  oh,  gracious  condescension ! 
—  confined  his  observations  altogether  to  Mam'- 
zelle.  None  of  the  other  ladies  came  in  for  any 
attention  from  him,  save  perhaps  the  Baronessa 
Spazzola,  as  the  Marchesina  had  joyfully  elected 
to  denominate  herself.  She  was  extraordinarily 
pretty  and  captivating,  in  spite  of  her  dreadful 
gown,  but  Bruno  determined  to  save  his  apprecia 
tion  until  it  could  be  declared  with  more  freedom 
than  at  a  dinner-table. 

Filippo  stole  quiet  looks  of  extreme  amusement 
as  Bruno  sat  at  the  head  of  the  table  and  ordered 
the  feast.  "  The  young  cub  was  born  to  it,"  he 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    133 

whispered  across  to  the  Freiherr ;  "  he  beats  me 
on  my  own  ground !  "  Then  his  head  fell  into  his 
hand,  and  he  gave  a  stifled  groan :  he  had  heard 
Bruno  ordering  up,  through  a  terrified  butler,  the 
choicest,  most  historical  vintage  of  his  cellar. 


"  I  had  been  saving  up  those  bottles  for  the  past 
fifteen  years,"  sighed  Filippo.  He  was  sitting  on 
the  edge  of  a  fountain-basin,  and  the  morning  sun 
came  shooting  athwart  the  empurpled  Judas-tree 
overhead. 

"  Try  to  bear  up,"  returned  the  Freiherr.  "  I 
knew  we  should  devastate  you.  But  it  will  not 
be  for  long.  Belriguardo  is  merely  the  first  of 
many  estates  we  shall  ravage.  The  locusts  come, 
but  they  pass  on.  We  shall  continue  our  good 
work  as  soon  as  our  itinerary  comes  to  be  a  little 
more  distinctly  marked  out.  But  your  aunt  en 
joyed  that  wine  —  I  know  she  did !  " 

"  You  have  conferred  with  his  men  of  business?  " 
asked  Capoameno,  with  comical  solicitude. 

"  Yes,  things  are  moving  —  they  are  shaping 
themselves.  His  rights  are  perfectly  clear ;  within 
a  week  or  more  he  can  lay  full  hands  on  his  own." 

"  Consult  my  men  of  business,  too,"  cried  Fi 
lippo.  "  Let  me  send  for  them ;  let  me  write ; 
let  them  interest  themselves  in  your  behalf.  I 
want  my  chance  at  the  Montegrifone  wine-cellars  ; 
I  want  to  eat  up  the  green  things  in  the  Montegri 
fone  fields." 


134  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  You  shall  have  your  revenge.  Let  your  peo 
ple  help  ours,  and  then  perhaps  we  can  move  on 
before  stripping  you  perfectly  bare !  " 

Toward  sunset  more  locusts  arrived  —  a  large 
flock  of  them.  At  that  hour  a  train  of  coaches 
paused  before  the  gates  of  Belriguardo,  and  a 
courier,  after  a  short  volley  of  loud  and  confident 
knocks,  demanded  shelter  for  his  party  for  the 
night.  The  important  air  of  the  man  and  the 
state  in  which  his  party  travelled  brought  the  en 
tire  household  to  the  gates.  The  courier  threw 
open  the  door  of  the  handsomest  of  the  coaches, 
and  — 

"  Gentlemen !  gentlemen !  "  cried  the  Lady  of 
Quality  to  Bruno  and  the  Freiherr,  uwe  meet 
again,  indeed ! "  Nothing  could  exceed  her  sur 
prise  and  pleasure.  She  gave  each  of  them  a  hand 
at  the  same  moment.  Then  she  withdrew  her 
hand  from  the  Freiherr  and  gave  Bruno  both. 
"  Ah !  "  she  cried,  "  you  have  come  into  your  own 
most  bravely !  And  it  is  your  hospitality  that  I 
have  ventured  to  ask  !  " 

Filippo,  leaning  against  one  of  the  great  gate 
posts,  glanced  at  the  Freiherr  and  said  never  a 
word. 

Meanwhile  the  coaches  were  emptying  them 
selves.  Maids  and  grooms  descended,  and  the 
impedimenta  of  a  great  personage  and  her  depend 
ents  began  to  pile  up  in  the  road.  And  behind 
all  this  some  one  presently  noticed  a  modest  group 
of  three  persons  who  huddled  together  in  a  depre- 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    135 

catory  way,  wondering  to  how  wide  a  measure  the 
influence  of  their  patroness  might  be  stretched. 

Von  Kaltenau,  glancing  casually  in  that  direc 
tion,  recognized  in  one  of  them  the  young  novelist 
who  had  entertained  him  on  the  way  to  Taranto. 
The  others,  recognized  at  the  same  moment  by 
both  the  Freiherr  and  Bruno,  were  the  curious 
pair  whom  they  had  met  on  the  water-front  at 
Naples,  the  loquacious  painter  and  the  dumb  poet. 

"  My  little  court,"  began  the  Lady  of  Quality. 
"  Wealth  should  encourage  the  arts.  What ! 
you  know  one  another?  You  are  acquainted 
already  ?  " 

"  Madam,"  said  Bruno,  gravely,  "  you  are  a 
remarkable  woman." 

"  Why  ?  Because  I  have  pushed  this  enterprise 
so  far  into  the  South  ?  But  surely  I  must  see  my 
niece !  And  why  were  brigands  abolished,  pray, 
if  not  that  I  might  indulge  my  whim  ?  Besides, 
we  have  pistols  in  our  holsters,  and  a  carbine  in 
every  carriage." 

"  Madam,"  said  Filippo,  advancing  with  the 
greatest  courtesy,  "  I  beg  to  assure  you  of  your 
perfect  safety." 

The  lady  bowed  markedly.  Bruno  flashed  an 
indignant  look  upon  his  major-domo  for  such  pre 
sumption.  Filippo,  with  a  despairing  glance  at 
the  Freiherr,  leaned  limp  against  his  gatepost,  and 
the  Lady  of  Quality  stood  convicted  of  having  be 
stowed  an  unnecessary  degree  of  graciousness  upon 
a  very  inferior  person. 


136  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


VI 

Dinner,  that  evening,  was  a  brilliant  function. 
Not  so  much  from  the  costumes  of  ManTzelle  and 
the  Marchesina,  who  wore  merely  what  they  had 
worn  the  evening  before,  with  some  minor  embel 
lishments  added ;  nor  from  the  efforts  of  the  newly- 
arrived  among  the  men,  who  seemed  a  little  too 
tired  and  too  strange  to  be  at  their  ease ;  but  from 
the  ravishing  exertions  of  the  Lady  of  Quality, 
who  supplied  all  deficiencies  by  dressing  for  ten 
and  talking  for  twenty.  Mam'zelle  looked  and 
listened  with  the  pleased  astonishment  of  a  child  ; 
never  had  her  generous  ideal  of  a  grande  dame 
been  half  so  well  realized.  The  affluent  personal 
ity  of  this  newcomer  cast  such  a  brilliancy  as  quite 
to  obliterate  the  minor  drawbacks  of  the  spectacle : 
the  humility  of  the  poor  relations  fed  by  Bruno's 
bounty,  and  the  growing  abstractedness  of  Bruno 
himself.  He  sat  half  the  time  deep  in  a  brown 
study,  and  the  Freiherr,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  well  knew  why. 

"  I  shall  go  back  to-morrow,"  said  Bruno,  a  little 
later,  following  von  Kaltenau  out  upon  the  ter 
race.  "I  shall  go  back  to  Palazzo  Astrofiam- 
mante,  and  back  to  her.  I  have  delayed  too  long, 
already ;  everything  to-day  has  combined  to  re 
mind  me  of  my  duty.  Everybody  comes,  and  she 
remains  away,  kept  under  lock  and  key  by  her 
cruel  father.  The  woman  comes  who  helped  me 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    137 

to  hold  out  against  Malevento ;  the  very  men 
come  whose  hands  held  her  back  from  the  sea.  I 
shall  go.  I  shall  know  now  what  to  say.  At  last 
I  am  all  that  I  should  be  and  have  all  that  I 
should  have  to  make  a  final  offer  of  myself  and 
my  possessions.  You,  my  dear  Theodor,  shall  hold 
my  place  here  till  I  return." 

"  Wait  a  few  days,"  counselled  the  Freiherr, 
hoping  that  a  little  cooperation  between  Bruno's 
own  men  of  law  and  Filippo's  might  smooth  out 
the  last  complication  in  the  new  duke's  affairs. 

"I  go  to-morrow,"  insisted  Bruno;  "to-morrow 
morning.  I  will  not  leave  her  longer  with  those 
cruel  jailers.  I  will  not  risk  the  possible  presence 
of  Malevento  —  I  feel  within  the  very  depths  of 
my  being  that  he  has  followed  on." 

Next  morning  the  whole  household  assembled  to 
bid  the  gallant  Bruno  godspeed  on  his  way.  At 
the  very  moment  of  his  departure  a  lettiga  borne 
by  two  white  mules  issued  from  a  bypath  and 
emerged  upon  the  highway.  A  well-known  face 
looked  through  the  window  with  an  expression  of 
curiosity,  then  of  surprise,  then  of  joy,  then  of  im 
periled  dignity.  The  youth  astride  the  forward 
mule  jumped  down  at  a  sign  from  Bruno,  and 
flung  the  door  of  the  lettiga  open.  Two  women 
alighted.  The  one  was  Monna  Clotilde,  the  som 
bre  tragedy-queen  of  Bitonto.  The  other  was 
Violante,  daughter  of  the  Astrofiammanti. 


138  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


VII 

Bruno  sprang  to  the  ground  instantly  and  ad 
vanced  toward  Donna  Violante  with  all  the  fine 
insouciance  of  a  light  tenor,  and  with  all  of  that 
vocal  hero's  indifference  to  the  presence  of  a  large 
company  ready  to  witness  his  doings,  and  to  com 
ment  in  concord  upon  the  emotional  situation,  —  a 
situation,  indeed,  that  suggested  an  ensemble  in 
the  middle  act  of  some  operetta.  A  varied  troupe, 
in  truth,  had  poured  out  through  the  great  gates 
of  Belriguardo  and  grouped  itself  about  the 
lettiga:  Filippo,  now  in  a  gnawing  rage  at  the 
thought  that  he  must  appear  at  so  cruel  a  disad 
vantage  before  a  young  person  of  such  supreme 
and  exquisite  distinction ;  Lucetta,  who,  while 
willing  to  make  herself  a  grotesque  before  so  un 
couth  a  woman  as  Mam'zelle  or  so  elderly  a  one  as 
the  Lady  of  Quality,  was  on  the  point  of  treason 
and  rebellion  at  the  notion  of  keeping  up  her  ab 
surd  attitude  before  another  beauty  as  young  and 
high-born  as  herself ;  the  Lady  of  Quality  and  her 
little  court,  who  caught  at  this  rencontre  with  the 
prehensile  eyes  of  artists  and  stared  in  the  open 
hope  that  some  rich  emotional  upheaval  would 
ensue  at  once ;  Mam'zelle  Hedwig,  already  men 
tally  prostrate  before  the  beauty  and  the  com 
manding  mien  of  the  travel- worn  young  patrician, 
whose  play  of  expression  was  so  varied  as  to  leave 
everybody  in  doubt  as  to  her  precise  state  of  mind, 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    139 

and  to  the  issue  of  the  encounter  ;  Dottore  Balan- 
zoni,  who  recognized  the  youthful  divinity  of  the 
ball  at  Rome  and  felt  achingly  the  triumphal 
descent  of  beauty  and  passion  to  this  dusty,  weary, 
time-worn  earth  ;  Theodor  von  Kaltenau,  who  at 
last  met  face  to  face  the  innamorata  of  his  ardent 
young  guide  and  protege  ;  and  a  chorus  of  grooms, 
gardeners,  maids,  footmen,  and  unspecified  guests 
—  persons  who,  at  such  a  stage,  appear  (for  the 
first  time,  perhaps)  in  the  background,  —  persons 
whose  names  may  not  be  found  on  the  printed 
bill  of  the  play,  whose  coming  is  not  anticipated, 
and  whose  presence  is  not  explained.  They  sup 
plement  the  cobalt  skies,  the  rich  greens  of  sub 
tropical  foliage ;  they  wear  costumes  that  pass 
readily  enough  at  the  back,  and  they  swell  the 
volume  of  sound  with  an  impersonal  unanimity. 

Bruno  stepped  forward  quickly  toward  Violante, 
and  extended  his  eager  hands.  Violante  made  no 
definite  response.  She  looked  about  her,  moving 
her  head  slowly  in  a  stately  and  self-possessed 
fashion,  as  if  to  measure  the  meaning  of  such  an 
encounter  at  such  a  time  and  place  before  com 
mitting  herself  to  any  of  its  consequences.  "  Vio 
lante,  Violante!  "  murmured  Bruno,  catching  at 
her  hands.  But  Violante's  eyes  still  swept  the 
crowd ;  she  made  it  plain  that  their  affair  was  at 
once  too  intimate  and  too  complicated  to  be  ad 
justed  in  the  general  public  view.  It  therefore 
devolved  upon  Bruno,  as  lord  of  the  manor,  to  dis 
perse  the  throng  with  an  easy  and  imperious  wave 


140  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

of  the  hand  —  to  spread  abroad  the  spirit  of 
prompt  docility  that  sends  the  chorus  rolling  in 
two  equal  waves  to  the  wings,  that  causes  the 
minor  principals  to  follow  with  a  little  more  lei 
sure,  dignity,  and  eye  to  effect,  and  that  leaves  the 
ground  free  to  Him  and  to  Her,  with  their  respec 
tive  confidantes  (retired  up,  perhaps,  to  a  suitable 
distance),  —  in  this  case  Monna  Clotilde  and 
Theodor  von  Kaltenau. 


VIII 

"  Violante !  "  repeated  Bruno,  ardently,  clasping 
the  girl's  hand  and  looking  intently  into  her  face. 
"  What  brings  you  here  ?  " 

"  What  brings  you  here  ?  "  asked  Violante. 

"  What  brings  me  here  ?  My  good  fortune,  my 
star,  my  right.  And  what  brings  me  here  keeps 
me  here.  For  I  have  come  into  my  own.  These 
gates  are  mine,  those  servants  were  mine,  those 
guests  were  mine.  And  now  you  are  come,  —  one 
guest  the  more,  —  the  last,  the  best "  — 

"  Hah !  "  emitted  Monna  Clotilde,  in  her  deep, 
bell-like  tone,  —  a  tone  fraught  with  so  much  mean 
ing  that  it  was  impossible  for  the  Freiherr  to  over 
look  it. 

Monna  Clotilde,  he  perceived,  was  now  quite 
another  woman.  The  dejection  and  aimlessness 
that  had  marked  her  manner  on  their  first  meeting 
were  gone.  She  seemed  to  have  found  a  new  in 
terest  in  life  —  some  new  object  upon  which  to 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE        141 

concentrate  her  scattered  forces.  He  recalled  her 
desire  to  take  into  her  empty  and  discouraged 
hands  the  task  of  moulding  some  young  life  ;  and 
he  wondered  if  Donna  Violante,  whose  tone  and 
expression  seemed  too  severe  for  her  years  and 
even  for  her  noble  type  of  beauty,  were  the  vic 
tim  —  for  it  would  be  nothing  less  —  destined  to 
be  sacrificed  in  Monna  Clotilde's  last  determined 
effort  to  regain  her  zest  for  living. 

"  I  know  what  brings  you  here !  "  proceeded 
Bruno,  ignoring  Violante 's  companion,  whom  he 
took  simply  for  her  duenna.  "  Confess  it.  Come," 
he  went  on  fatuously,  "  say  that  you  came  here  to 
find  me ! " 

"  Impossible ! "  exclaimed  Donna  Violante,  scorn 
fully. 

"  Impossible !  "  echoed  Monna  Clotilde,  in  the 
tone  of  a  teacher  approving  the  reply  of  a  pupil. 

"  How  could  I  know  you  were  here  ? "  de 
manded  Violante. 

"How,  indeed?"  repeated  Clotilde. 

"  Have  you  ceased  to  care  for  me  ? "  asked 
Bruno. 

"Have  you  ceased  to  care  for  me?"  asked 
Violante. 

"  Ceased !  "  he  cried.  The  Freiherr  checked  the 
impetuous  advance  he  was  about  to  execute.  "  Tell 
me,  at  least,  then,  why  you  have  left  your  home." 

"  I  left  home  to  escape  tyranny,  persecution ; 
the  tyranny  of  harsh  and  self-seeking  parents,  the 
persecution  of  a  distasteful  suitor." 


142  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  And  there  were  other  injuries  no  less  hard  to 
bear,"  contributed  Monna  Clotilde,  with  a  hearty 
relish :  "  the  negative  injuries  of  neglect,  indiffer 
ence,  forgetfulness ! " 

"  Persecution  ?  Distasteful  suitor  ?  "  cried 
Bruno,  overriding  Monna  Clotilde's  observations. 
"  You  mean  —  Malevento  ?  " 

"  I  mean  Malevento." 

"  We  mean  Malevento,"  repeated  Clotilde. 
"  And  we  mean  you." 

"  He  followed  after  you  from  Naples  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"You  deceiv — you  misled  me.  You  told  me 
he  cared  nothing  for  you." 

"  He  is  one  of  the  kind  not  to  care  when  no  one 
else  cares,  and  to  care  greatly  when  he  hears  that 
another  does." 

"  How  did  he  learn  that  I  —  that  I  cared  ?  " 

"  From  my  foolish,  spiteful  mother." 

"In  Naples?" 

"Yes;  and  followed  you  southward  when  he 
learned  that  you  had  followed  me." 

"  And  you  have  seen  him  since  ?     Where  ?  " 

"  Where?"  repeated  Violante,  with  a  touch  of 
temper.  "  Where  else  than  under  my  father's 
own  roof?  —  a  spot,  it  seems,  easily  reached  by 
one,  yet  wholly  inaccessible  for  another;  a  feat 
simple  for  him,  but  impossible  for  you !  " 

"  You  wrong  me ! "  cried  Bruno.  "  I  stood  inside 
your  house  but  a  few  days  ago.  I  spoke  to  your  fa 
ther  face  to  face  beneath  his  own  roof !  I  swear  it." 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE    143 

"  They  never  told  me,"  faltered  Violante. 

Monna  Clotilde  felt  the  situation  weakening ;  it 
must  be  sustained.  "  When  Malevento  came,"  she 
declared,  "  his  coming  was  known  to  one  and  to  all. 
He  did  not  say  he  came  —  he  had  no  need  to  swear ; 
he  was  seen  and  felt.  But  he  will  never  be  seen 
again  by  us,"  she  continued,  in  a  strain  of  vindic 
tive  triumph  ;  "  and  he  will  make  himself  felt  no 
more  in  the  young  life  now  within  my  keeping !  " 

A  round  of  applause  was  clearly  due ;  but 
Bruno  merely  stared  at  this  intrusive  person  as 
one  little  to  be  preferred  to  Violante's  own  mo 
ther. 

"  They  did  not  tell  me,"  repeated  the  girl,  in  a 
contrite  tone. 

"  I  said  to  him  all  there  was  to  say  —  I  told 
him  all  there  was  to  tell :  what  I  was  and  what  I 
was  to  be.  He  laughed  in  my  face  !  "  cried  Bruno, 
with  a  grand  and  ample  gesture  toward  his  gates, 
his  terrace,  his  tower.  Yon  Kaltenau  flushed. 

"  They  did  not  tell  me,"  said  Violante  yet  again, 
drooping  her  head  and  fastening  a  self-reproachful 
look  upon  the  ground. 

"And  what  is  more,"  continued  Bruno,  gal 
lantly  pursuing  his  advantage,  "  just  as  you  came 
up  I  was  on  the  point  of  setting  out  to  see  you 
once  again.  Evening  would  have  found  me  be 
neath  your  window.  I  swear  it !  " 

"  I  swear  it !  "  echoed  the  Freiherr,  finally  con 
scious  that,  as  a  second,  he  was  showing  himself 
much  inferior  to  Monna  Clotilde.  "  I  swear  it," 


144  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

lie  repeated.  "  Ever  since  our  Montegrifone  has 
been  in  —  in  possession  here,  all  his  thoughts  have 
been  of  you,  and  every  day  of  delay  in  seeing  you 
has"- 

"  It  is  all  mine,"  said  Bruno,  with  another 
grand  backward  sweep  of  the  arm ;  "  and  it  shall 
all  be  yours."  He  motioned  toward  the  gateway. 
"  Come  in." 

"  Impossible,"  said  Yiolante,  drawing  away  in 
the  direction  of  the  lettiga. 

"  Impossible,"  said  Monna  Clotilde,  conscious 
of  the  dawning  danger  for  her  ascendancy. 

"  Why  impossible  ? "  asked  the  Freiherr  of 
Violante.  "  You  are  not  alone." 

"  Impossible,"  murmured  Violante. 

"  You  are  not  our  only  guests." 

"  Impossible." 

"  We  have  a  houseful  of  friends  —  you  saw 
them.  Among  them  are  several  ladies  of  mature 
years  and  complete  discretion  "  — 

"  Impossible." 

"  You  have  one  of  the  —  of  the  same  character 
with  you  "  — 

"  Impossible." 

Bruno  laughed  loudly.  "  Come  in,"  he  repeated. 
"  That  is  your  only  course.  I  am  keeping  open 
house,  and  why  should  I  throw  myself  open  to 
all  the  world  if  you,  and  you  alone,  are  to  be  ex 
cluded?" 

"  We  will  go  on  to  the  town,"  murmured  Vio 
lante.  "  We  will  find  some  inn  "  — 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   145 

"  That  is  impossible.  You  would  find  the  food 
impossible,  the  beds  impossible,  the  company  im 
possible.  Come." 

Violante  looked  toward  Clotilde,  who,  resenting 
this  attack  on  the  integrity  of  an  influence  that 
was  to  be  hers  and  hers  alone,  gave  no  sign  of 
encouragement. 

"It  is  quite  impossible,"  the  girl  murmured 
once  more. 

Then  Bruno  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  she, 
with  a  look  for  reassurance  toward  Theodor  von 
Kaltenau,  let  go  her  hold  on  the  door  of  the  let- 
tiga ;  and  then,  as  the  step  was  quite  impossible, 
she  took  it.  She  allowed  Bruno  to  lead  her  in 
through  the  great  gateway,  and  Monna  Clotilde 
followed  with  the  Freiherr. 


IX 

Von  Kaltenau  was  happy.  His  combination 
was  now  —  at  least  in  so  far  as  concerned  his  own 
aims  —  complete.  He  lent  to  the  approaching 
concords  such  an  ear  as  is  lent  by  the  ravished 
amateur  who  has  just  added  the  last  and  most  ex 
quisite  of  all  the  pipes  to  his  organ.  He  leaned 
back  at  ease  as  does  the  stoker  who,  having  man 
fully  heaved  the  coal  into  his  furnace,  pauses  to 
feel  the  warmth  and  to  take  the  glow  upon  his 
face.  Bruno  now  stood  complete  —  pipes,  pedals, 
stops,  and  all,  and  had  nothing  to  do  but  sing. 
Filled  to  the  brim  with  hopes  of  future  bliss  and 


146  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

aflame  with  all  the  pride  of  love  and  pleasure  and 
mastery,  it  should  be  easy  enough  for  him  to  shed 
the  palpitating  warmth  abroad  and  to  spread  the 
red  glow  of  joy  far  and  wide.  What  he  had  done 
in  a  small  way  at  Rome  he  was  now  to  do  in 
a  larger  way  in  Sicily.  The  world  should  again 
take  on  new  shape,  life,  and  color,  and  everything 
should  once  more  seem  worth  the  while. 

Bruno  trod  the  earth  as  a  young  god  treads  the 
clouds ;  his  being,  newly  attuned,  drew  fresh  har 
monies  from  sea  and  sky  and  grove,  and  doubled 
the  odorous  beauty  of  advancing  spring  that  now 
rioted  amongst  magnolias  and  oleanders  and  pome 
granates,  and  reveled  through  the  thickets  of  myr 
tle  and  acacia  that  overhung  the  steep  beds  of 
hastening  rivulets.  The  broad  terrace  flowered 
with  camellias  and  aloes  in  their  great  earthen 
pots ;  the  garden  plats  beneath  bloomed  with 
euphorbias  and  asphodels  and  hyacinths  and  the 
gallant  red  trumpetings  of  the  hibiscus ;  the  fields 
and  the  olive  groves  were  sprinkled  with  violets 
and  anemones  and  cyclamen  and  the  yellow  oxalis, 
and  the  crannied  walls  were  hung  with  the  purple 
flowers  of  the  pendent  caper-plant.  Day  by  day 
the  sky  and  the  sea  kept  an  inviolate  pact  of  un- 
flecked  and  unruffled  serenity ;  night  after  night 
the  stars  shone  soft  and  clear  and  the  moon  grew 
bigger  in  the  east.  And  by  morning  light  and  by 
twilight  dusk  and  by  moonlight  sheen,  two  young 
lovers,  proud  of  themselves  and  of  each  other, 
walked  abroad  and  abreast  through  this  enchanted 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   147 

domain,  that  new  life  and  new  interest  and  new 
pleasure  might  be  infused  into  the  Kosmos  for 
those  poor  souls  astray  in  the  drear  and  sandy 
tract  of  the  desolate  middle  years. 

Under  the  influence  of  the  beauties  of  Belri- 
guardo,  of  the  glories  of  the  Sicilian  spring,  of 
the  intoxication  produced  by  the  sight  of  ardent 
youth  happy  in  its  love,  many  of  the  way-worn 
pilgrims  from  the  North  came  to  the  point  of 
abandoning  their  quest :  the  Last  Refuge  was 
here.  Dottore  Balanzoni  acknowledged  that  his 
longings  were  almost  appeased ;  the  Lady  of  Qual 
ity  declared  that  with  the  sight  and  the  company 
of  such  a  noble  young  pair  her  ambitions  were 
pretty  nearly  realized.  The  painter  and  the  novel 
ist  followed  Donna  Violante  like  a  pair  of  hounds 
in  leash,  striving  to  catch  and  to  secure  the  last 
fine  shades  in  the  color-symphony  of  human  feli 
city.  The  dumb  Colossus  from  the  North  one  day 
broke  through  his  cerements  and  surprised  himself 
and  the  company  with  a  brief,  though  exquisite 
poem  —  the  first  he  ever  wrote,  and  the  last. 

Violante  had  been  rather  perturbed  to  find  these 
persons  among  the  company  at  Belriguardo,  but 
she  soon  regained  her  composure ;  that  mad  mo 
ment  at  Naples  was  now  too  far  behind,  too  far 
away,  for  mention  or  even  for  thought.  If  Bruno 
had  not  saved  her  then,  he  dignified  and  glorified 
her  now.  She  found  him  exquisite  in  his  slender, 
supple  grace,  in  the  rush  of  his  unabashed  ardor, 
in  his  new-found  dignity  of  a  grand  seigneur  doing 


148  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  honors  of  this  romantic  domain.  She  even 
dwelt  caressingly  upon  his  name  —  a  name  that 
Giacinto  Malevento,  during  one  period  of  his  per 
secutions,  had  accused  of  a  lack  of  gentility. 
"  Bruno  !  "  he  had  cried  scornfully ;  "  a  name  for 
a  bravo  crouched  behind  a  wall,  or  for  a  vine 
dresser  busy  with  his  pruning-knife !  "  But  Vio- 
lante  would  linger  upon  the  name  in  a  very  ecstasy 
of  fondness.  Its  barbaric  brevity,  its  possibly  ple 
beian  cast  —  these  stood  so  well  for  ardor,  momen 
tum,  mastery ;  if  it  grew  near  the  ground  it  had 
the  fresh  vigor  and  flavor  of  the  soil  itself.  It 
was  a  name  to  fill  her  idle  moments  by  day  and 
her  open-eyed  moments  at  night. 

In  any  event  her  own  patrician  appellation  was 
more  than  sufficient  to  maintain  a  proper  average. 
Her  beauty,  too,  her  temperament,  her  carriage  — 
all  these  assisted  her  to  tour  through  her  new  pro 
vince  with  regal  mien,  and  to  secure  the  homage 
due  a  queen  upon  her  progress.  Everybody  coop 
erated.  The  Lady  of  Quality  opened  her  abundant 
coffers  that  regalia  might  not  fail,  and  even  poor 
Filippo  would  now  and  then  smile  his  rueful  smile 
and  admit  that  his  ill-judged  abdication  was  not 
without  its  recompenses. 

X 

All  were  pleased  —  save  one.  The  little  Mar- 
chesina  was  finding  the  strain  too  hard  to  bear. 
Her  lively,  sunny  nature  was  under  a  cloud.  Her 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   149 

sense  of  the  ridiculous  was  in  abeyance.  The  situa 
tion  irked  her.  More,  irksomeness  had  given  way 
to  impatience,  and  impatience  to  pique,  and  pique 
to  anger ;  the  storm  was  almost  ready  to  burst. 
To  be  put  at  such  a  cruel  disadvantage  in  the  very 
hour  she  most  required  free  exercise  of  her  powers ! 
To  be  a  masquerading  servant  in  her  brother's 
house  while  another  woman,  no  younger,  no  more 
beautiful,  no  better  born,  made  her  fantastic  entry 
to  rule  as  chatelaine  !  To  be  snubbed  or  ignored 
before  the  assembled  company  her  brother  fed  and 
lodged  by  an  arrogant  young  impostor  who  half  the 
time  did  not  trouble  to  keep  up  a  decent  feint  of 
the  comedy  they  were  playing!  She  had  found 
him  hard  to  bear  before  the  arrival  of  Donna  Vio- 
lante,  but  how  much  harder  did  she  find  him  now  ! 
Then,  at  least,  he  had  noticed  her,  had  admired 
her,  had  had  words  for  her.  For  example,  there 
was  that  moonlit  night  when  he  had  followed  her 
out  upon  the  terrace,  and  had  frankly  and  uncere 
moniously  set  forth  his  admiration  of  her  face  and 
figure.  True,  the  entire  proceeding  had  been  tre 
mendously  de  haut  en  has  —  for  he  had  taken  the 
tone  of  a  very  grand  gentleman  toward  a  very 
minor  actress  ;  but  it  had  at  least  given  her  the  op 
portunity  to  wrench  his  remarks  round  to  a  distant 
and  perverted  appreciation  of  her  real  quality. 
Bruno  had  been  taken  —  who  would  not  be  ?  — 
by  her  sprightly,  tripping  gait ;  by  her  saucy  little 
nose  which  forgot  its  dignity  at  the  last  moment 
to  become  tip-tilted  in  just  the  least  degree ;  by 


150  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  arch,  coquettish  smile  that  she  had  copied  from 
Susanna,  in  the  "Marriage  of  Figaro,"  and  had 
employed  circumspectly  on  one  or  two  private  oc 
casions.  But  now  the  Countess  Almaviva  herself 
was  come  —  statelier,  taller,  more  serene,  more 
regal,  more  imposing ;  and  poor  little  Susanna 
found  herself  pushed  quite  aside.  The  Marchesina 

—  lady's-maid,   poor   relation,   what   not  —  made 
moan  to  her  brother. 

"  I  can  stand  it  no  longer  —  not  a  single  day !  " 
Indignant  tears  started  in  her  eyes, 

Filippo  frowned  blackly.    "  That  graceless  cub ! 

—  has  he  been — has  he  been  taking  —  liberties 
with  you  ?  " 

"  No,  not  exactly.  No,  I  won't  quite  say  that. 
But  I  am  sure  that  if  I  were  —  if  I  were  myself, 
I  should  get  more  attention  from  him,  and  a  —  a 
different  sort  of  attention." 

Filippo  laughed.  "  Your  own  fault !  And  if  I 
had  let  you  have  your  own  way  completely,  you 
would  be  scouring  pans  and  kettles  in  the  kitchen 
this  very  hour  !  " 

Lucetta  made  a  dreadful  little  grimace. 

"But,"  went  on  Filippo,  resuming  his  air  of 
gravity,  "  if  I  were  to  hear  of  his  doing  or  saying 
anything  essentially  improper,  or  even  inconsider 
ate,  I  should  "  — 

"  Yes,  yes,  I  know ;  you  would  punish  him.  An 
easy  thing  to  do.  He  can  be  thoroughly  pun 
ished  at  a  moment's  notice ;  not  only  punished  — 
crushed,  annihilated.  He  is  on  a  thin  lava-crust ; 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   151 

he  stands  on  the  gallows  with  the  noose  round  his 
neck"  — 

Filippo's  essential  good  nature  came  uppermost. 
"  I  should  not  want  to  swing  him  off  from  Belri- 
guardo  before  he  can  arrange  to  fall  on  his  feet 
elsewhere.  We  must  pay  for  our  foolish  impulse 
by  a  few  more  days  of  this  ignoble  existence !  " 


XI 

Bruno,  meanwhile,  unconscious  of  the  slender 
basis  of  mere  suffrage  upon  which  rested  his 
grandeur  and  all  his  happiness,  present  and  fu 
ture,  began  to  rack  his  brains  for  new  rituals  by 
which  to  show  homage  to  the  lady  of  his  prefer 
ence.  All  this  time  the  scattered  ruins  of  the  little 
Greek  town  below  them  were  still  strewing  the 
heights  of  the  headland.  Bits  of  entablature  or  of 
stylobate  mingled  with  the  rugged  growths  of  pal 
metto  and  prickly-pear;  fragmentary  pavements 
peeped  out  here  and  there  through  banks  of  aspho 
del  or  tangles  of  curling  acanthus  leaves  of  glossi 
est  green  ;  and  at  the  sunset  hour  loiterers  on 
Belriguardo's  broad  terrace  would  catch  upon  the 
three  or  four  remaining  columns  of  the  great  temple 
itself  the  ruddy  glow  that  detached  them  still  more 
vividly  from  the  unbroken  blue  of  the  sea  behind. 
Yes,  the  temple  was  there,  —  and  even  the  founda 
tions  of  the  altar.  To  these  he  must  add  the  di 
vinity,  the  priest,  the  ceremonial. 

"  What  god  shall  we  honor  ?  "  he  once  asked 


152  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  company  assembled  on  the  terrace  in  the  early 
twilight.  "  Before  what  divinity  shall  we  light 
our  fires,  sing  our  hymns,  perform  our  dances,  lay 
our  offerings  ?  Who  will  speak  ?  " 

"  Let  it  be  Hope,"  said  Balanzoni,  wistfully. 
"  Upon  the  altar  of  such  a  goddess  would  I  will 
ingly  pour  a  libation." 

"  Hope  ?  "  repeated  Bruno.  He  looked  at  Vio- 
lante. 

"  Let  it  be  Beauty,"  suggested  Mam'zelle,  shyly. 

"  Beauty  ?  "  exclaimed  Bruno,  after  her.  He 
looked  at  Violante. 

"Let  it  be  Glory,"  pronounced  the  Lady  of 
Quality,  with  the  dignity  of  a  Roman  empress. 

"  Glory?  "     He  looked  at  Violante. 

"  Let  it  be  Nemesis,"  muttered  Monna  Clo tilde, 
darkly. 

"  Nemesis  ?  "  He  looked  at  Violante  —  like  a 
protector. 

"  Let  it  be  Art,"  suggested  the  painter. 

"  Art ! "  exclaimed  Bruno,  impatiently.  "  Rather, 
let  it  be  Love,"  —  he  looked  at  Violante  once  again 
—  "  Love,  the  god  that  "  — 

"  No,  no,"  broke  in  the  Freiherr.  "  Let  it  be 
Youth  —  youth,  the  one,  the  sole  divinity  —  the 
strong  young  god  that  ever  freshens  and  illumines 
this  worn  old  earth  and  creates  in  every  new  heart 
the  miraculous  belief  that  our  few  years  here  are 
to  be  worth  the  efforts  we  make  to  prolong  them. 
Let  the  rest  go  ;  light  your  fires  before  Youth, 
pour  out  your  richest  libations,  pipe  out  the  fullest 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   153 

sweetness  stored  within  your  double  pipes  ;  make 
any  sacrifice  to  keep  it,  for  no  sacrifice  can  ever 
bring  it  back.  No  lustration  save  the  bath  of 
youth  will  wash  away  the  grime  of  the  middle 
years  ;  no  illuminant  save  the  torch  of  youth  will 
drive  back  the  dark  shades  that  gather  round  us 
long  before  the  end.  Crown  yourselves  with  myrtle 
and  laurel  and  pray  with  upraised  arms  that  the 
sun  may  stand  still  for  but  a  single  day  —  't  were 
vain  to  ask  for  more ;  for  the  divine  sanctuary  of 
youth  is  the  Last  Refuge,  and  even  that  can  har 
bor  us  only  too  short  a  time.  Youth  includes  all : 
Beauty,  Love,  the  Hope  and  Glory  of  the  world. 
And  let  this  ever-fleeting,  ever-renewing  divinity 
of  youth  be  served  by  youthful  priest ;  no  brow 
upon  which  disillusion  has  ever  weighed  shall 
wear  her  laurel ;  no  heart  that  enthusiasm  has 
deserted  shall  stand  beside  her  pedestal ;  no  eyes 
that  disenchantment  has  dulled  shall  look  up  into 
her  face.  Let  such  a  priest  minister  before  the 
statue,  while  the  rest  of  us,  we  weary,  world-worn 
mortals,  humbly  prostrate  ourselves  in  the  outer 
court." 

During  these  words,  Violante,  who  had  uttered 
never  a  syllable,  looked  shyly  once  or  twice  at 
Bruno ;  Bruno,  throughout,  looked  at  Violante  full 
steadily  and  unabashed.  The  entire  company  ac 
cepted  Youth  as  the  one,  the  sole  divinity,  and  the 
question  simply  became  this :  Shall  the  divinity 
be  a  god  ministered  to  by  a  priestess,  or  a  goddess 
ministered  to  by  a  priest  ?  The  question  remained 


154  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

open,  even  on  the  next  morning,  when  the  whole 
company,  clad  in  chlamys  and  himation  and  bear 
ing  oak  branches,  picked  their  sandal-footed  way 
down  to  the  temple ;  nor  even  when  they  were 
grouped  around  the  altar  did  the  general  indeci 
sion  end.  The  women  (who  wished  to  serve  as 
priestesses)  urged  Bruno  to  take  his  stand  upon 
the  battered  capital  that  was  to  serve  the  divinity 
for  a  pedestal.  The  men  (who  would  fain  be 
priests)  begged  Violante  to  lose  no  time  in  assum 
ing  the  same  place,  that  the  ritual  of  adoration 
might  begin.  But  Violante,  blushing  divinely, 
extended  her  white  arms  toward  Bruno,  and  raised 
her  golden  cup,  as  if  to  offer  a  libation.  And 
Bruno,  with  pride  sparkling  in  his  enkindled  eye, 
took  his  basket  of  first-fruits  from  the  hands  of 
Donna  Lucetta  and  made  as  if  to  lay  it  before 
Violante' s  shrine.  Complete  confusion  prevailed ; 
no  understanding  could  be  reached.  The  white 
heifer,  with  wreathed  and  gilded  horns,  strolled 
away  and  began  to  browse  among  the  fennel  and 
acanthus;  and  the  Freiherr,  with  a  faint  sigh, 
rested  the  sacrificial  axe  against  a  bit  of  broken 
cornice.  Neither  object  of  this  common  worship 
would  take  precedence,  and  the  little  company 
returned  to  Belriguardo  under  the  pall  of  utter 
failure. 

"  Youth,  youth  !  "  murmured  the  Freiherr ;  "  as 
indomitable  in  its  sacrifices  as  in  its  hopes  and 
enthusiasms ! " 


THE    PALACE    OF    PLEASURE       155 


XII 

Bruno's  youthful  elasticity  soon  recovered  from 
the  disappointment  attending  this  ceremonial,  and 
he  began  to  form  plans  for  another.  The  second, 
too,  was  designed  to  honor  Donna  Violante.  The 
first  had  taken  place  in  a  temple  ;  this  one  was  to 
take  place  at  Belriguardo  itself.  The  first  had 
been  conceived  in  the  spirit  of  antiquity ;  the  sec 
ond  was  to  be  carried  out  in  the  spirit  of  the 
middle  ages.  His  failure  had  been  Greek ;  his 
success  was  to  be  Saracenic. 

Sicily !  swept  by  every  breeze  that  ripples  the 
Mediterranean !  Sicily !  fruitful  soil  in  which 
seed  from  every  quarter  has  found  a  lodging ! 
Above  all,  the  seed  of  Arabic  poesy,  borne  hither- 
ward  in  circuitous  sweep  through  Moorish  Spain 
and  gay  Provence,  and  nurtured  by  Norman  chiv 
alry  and  later  gathered  a  hundredfold  by  Tuscan 
sonneteers  to  be  spread  broadcast  through  the 
world.  Bruno  pined  for  a  concourse  of  trouba 
dours  and  dreamed  of  a  Court  of  Love.  Belri 
guardo  should  be  the  Favara  of  to-day  —  Favara, 
where  the  great  Hohenstaufen  had  held  his  cul 
tured,  cosmopolitan  sway ;  where  poets  and  painters 
and  philosophers  had  come  flocking  to  entertain 
the  court  beauties,  Christian  and  Mohammedan 
alike  ;  where  the  delights  of  the  South  and  the 
East  conjoined  in  fullest,  most  ideal  union  ;  and 
where  the  opening  bud  of  Italian  poetry  was  coaxed 


156  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

forward  by  the  dexterous  hand  of  the  accomplished 
Frederick  himself.  To  Favara  should  be  added 
Granada  and  Toulouse,  and  eke  the  canorous  choir 
of  Valdarno.  There  should  be  cansos  and  tensons 
and  baladas  and  aubades  and  pastoretas ;  and  the 
songs  sung  by  this  newest  consistory  of  the  "  gay 
science  "  should  all  be  in  honor  of  one  whom  he 
should  wisely  choose. 

This  court  of  love  required  a  queen.  There 
was  no  ambiguity  here;  there  should  be  no  dis 
pute  as  to  primacy;  the  queen  should  have  no 
opportunity  to  draw  back  at  the  very  foot  of  the 
throne.  In  his  mind's  eye  Donna  Violante  already 
sat  there  in  state. 

He  issued  a  mandate  exacting  a  tribute  of  poems. 
It  was  like  a  tax  laid  by  the  royal  treasury,  and  no 
one  was  to  escape.  He  himself  should  write,  and 
none  must  think  of  failure.  He  urged  the  Frei- 
herr  to  serve  him  with  Dottore  Balanzoni,  whose 
gravity  he  himself  hardly  dared  attack.  Yon  Kal- 
tenau  took  Balanzoni  aside  —  (Balanzoni  was  not 
his  real  name,  for  he  had  brought  a  much  better 
one  from  Leyden,  but  it  is  too  late  to  make  the 
change  now)  —  von  Kaltenau,  I  say,  took  Balan 
zoni  aside,  and  asked  him  to  bear  his  part  in  a 
tenson.  "  A  tenson,"  explained  the  Freiherr,  "  is 
a  sort  of  poetic  combat,  in  which  opposing  sides 
discourse  on  the  philosophy  of  chivalrous  love. 
Enter  the  combat,  I  conjure  you,  as  you  are  a 
philosopher !  Bring  back  to  mind  the  philosophic 
and  artistic  glories  of  your  own  land.  Live,  live, 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   157 

—  as  you  have  so  long  wanted  to  live.  Break 
loose  !  Soar !  Palpitate  !  What  better  Kefuge 
can  you  find  than  the  refuge  offered  here  ?  " 

The  romancer  also  promised  to  contribute,  and 
to  do  as  well  as  he  could  in  a  vehicle  not  properly 
his ;  the  Lady  of  Quality,  too,  said  that  she  came 
from  a  clever  land  where  everybody  was  expected 
to  turn  his  hand  to  everything,  and  that  they 
might  count  upon  her  for  a  roundelay  of  some 
kind  or  other.  The  dumb  poet,  having  broken  his 
silence  once,  might  be  expected,  of  course,  to  do  it 
again.  Monna  Clotilde  said  she  could  not  write 
a  poem,  but  that  she  should  be  glad  to  recite  one 
written  by  anybody  else  :  if  her  personal  prefer 
ence  were  consulted,  the  love  she  lent  her  voice  to 
celebrate  would  be  an  unhappy  love.  Mam'zelle 
Hedwig  had  been  seen  carrying  a  small  bottle  of 
violet  ink  across  the  courtyard  and  along  the  ter 
race,  and  was  felt  to  be  engaged  in  the  fabrication 
of  something  very  choice  and  graceful  and  inde 
pendent.  The  painter,  who  had  no  powers  in  verse, 
promised  to  put  the  session  of  the  consistory  on 
canvas. 

Capoameno  was  one  of  the  readiest  and  most 
accomplished  versifiers  in  Sicily.  He  approached 
Bruno  one  morning  very  humbly  and  asked  to  be 
allowed  to  participate. 

"  Certainly,"  said  Bruno,  with  the  most  gracious 
condescension.  "  Write  something,  by  all  means. 
To  such  a  queen  in  such  a  court  the  praises  of 
high  and  low  alike  are  due.  But  you  will  under- 


158  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

stand  that  your  piece  need  not  be  very  long,  nor 
too  impassioned.  Let  your  own  good  sense  and 
good  taste  guide  you." 

"  Thanks,   Excellency,"   said    Filippo,  bowing 
humbly  as  he  slunk  away. 


XIII 

The  Court  of  Love  was  held  on  the  great  ter 
race  of  Belriguardo  one  morning  in  earliest  April. 
The  sky  was  cloudless,  the  sea  was  unruffled,  save 
for  the  lightest  breeze,  and  the  beams  of  mid- 
spring's  enkindling  sun  were  shut  off  by  the  great 
bulk  of  the  Roman  tower.  To  the  terrace  camel 
lias  were  added  branches  of  laurel  and  oleander, 
and  festoons  of  myrtle  and  smilax  clung  along 
the  lichened  balustrade.  Donna  Violante  sat  en 
throned  under  a  canopy  of  cloth-of-gold ;  Bruno 
stood  beside  her  on  the  lowest  step ;  and  the  rest 
of  the  company,  decked  out  in  the  accumulated 
spoils  of  the  centuries,  grouped  themselves  about 
the  presiding  figure  in  the  similitude  of  a  court 
of  the  old  Norman-Arabic  days.  The  painter, 
dressed  as  Count  Raymond's  favorite  troubadour, 
was  enchanted.  He  was  in  the  picture,  and  he 
was  out  of  it.  He  could  take  it  subjectively ;  he 
could  take  it  objectively.  He  cried  for  brushes 
and  canvas  and  felt  himself  on  the  threshold  of  a 
triumphant  masterpiece. 

"  I  have  found  the  Last  Refuge,  in  very  truth," 
he  said.  And  he  looked  again  at  the  glorious 
young  couple  in  frank  and  unrestrained  delight. 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   159 

A  court  of  love  has  its  distinctly  judicial  aspect, 
and  the  proceedings  opened  with  a  philosophical 
discussion  on  the  nature  of  love  —  a  matter  upon 
which  the  presiding  spirit  and  her  attendant  ladies 
were  expected  to  deliver  a  judgment.  The  two 
disputants  were  Dottore  Balanzoni  and  the  Frei- 
herr  of  Kaltenau.  One's  verses  maintained  that 
love  was  unselfishness ;  the  other's,  that  love  was 
selfishness  itself.  No  one  knew,  however,  the 
author  of  either  poem ;  for  the  two  scrolls  were 
dropped  into  a  hat,  and  each  one  read  the  poem 
he  drew  out.  Judgment  was  reserved. 

The  forms  of  legal  procedure  partly  satisfied, 
the  session  moved  on  in  a  freer  spirit.  The  Lady 
of  Quality,  being  perfectly  prosperous  and  happy, 
and  thoroughly  contented  under  domestic  arrange 
ments  of  her  own  devising,  put  together  a  mourn 
ful  little  ditty  about  a  broken  heart.  This  was 
recited  with  tragic  emphasis  by  Monna  Clotilde, 
and  every  one  was  much  affected. 

The  dumb  singer  from  the  Northland  had  been 
unable  to  produce  a  second  poem,  and  so  repeated 
his  first.  He  stood  forth  with  his  sheet  grasped 
in  his  great  bony  hands  and  read  his  tender  lit 
tle  lines  in  a  voice  like  the  roaring  north  wind 
hushed. 

The  Marchese  hurried  rapidly  and  humbly 
through  his  bit  of  verse ;  everybody  saw  that  he 
was  embarrassed  and  none  too  desirous  of  pushing 
himself  before  his  betters.  "  However,"  said  the 
Lady  of  Quality,  "  I  think  a  fine  handsome  fellow 


160  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

like  that  might  show  a  little  more  spirit.  Nothing 
is  so  annoying  as  too  great  humility." 

Capoameno  had  avoided  passion  as  well  as  pro 
lixity.  He  read  a  piece  of  ten  or  twelve  lines. 
Nothing  could  have  been  more  mischievous,  more 
sardonic,  more  packed  with  secondary  meanings. 
But  only  the  Freiherr  and  the  Marchesina  under 
stood  them.  When  Bruno  too  came  to  understand 
them,  in  the  light  of  subsequent  events,  they  pricked 
him  like  red-hot  needles. 

Mam'zelle  Hedwig  now  came  forward  and  bash 
fully  read  her  little  sonnet  in  violet  ink.  It  was 
fragrant  with  gratitude  and  prim  with  respectful 
homage.  It  was  dedicated  to  a  preux  chevalier 
who  rescued  damsels  in  distress.  The  Freiherr 
smiled  kindly  as  he  listened.  For  the  chevalier 
that  Mam'zelle  had  in  mind  was  clearly  one  who 
resisted  the  demands  of  extortionate  porters  and 
the  advances  of  importunate  cabmen,  and  who  was 
gently  considerate  with  single  women  who  were 
past  their  first  youth  and  defaced  by  the  hard 
knocks  of  travel.  Mam'zelle's  innocent  gratitude 
showed  in  her  tremulous  voice  and  her  blushing 
cheeks.  Everybody  acknowledged  her  efforts  with 
cordial  applause,  the  Freiherr  with  the  rest  —  to 
keep  himself  and  herself  in  countenance.  But 
Mam'zelle's  humble  tribute  was  come  too  late  —  as 
a  little  star  that  begins  to  shine  near  dawn.  For 
daylight  seemed  breaking  before  the  Freiherr's 
eyes  and  all  that  little  stars  could  do  would  be  to 
fade  away. 


THE  PALACE  OF  PLEASURE   161 

Then  Bruno.  He  stood  at  the  foot  of  the  throne 
and  gave  forth  his  homage  with  the  abandon  and 
momentum  of  a  whirlwind.  His  eyes  sparkled 
with  pride,  his  brown  and  sinewy  young  hands 
trembled  with  passion,  his  whole  slender  frame 
dilated  and  vibrated  as  if  the  very  god  of  poetry 
had  descended  upon  him.  His  canso  wedded  the 
suave  rhythms  of  the  South  to  the  barbaric  im 
petuosity  of  the  Servian  highlands.  It  was  all 
for  her  —  for  her,  seated  there  upon  the  throne  ; 
let  everybody  see,  let  everybody  hear.  Donna 
Violante,  blushing,  panting,  trembling,  abashed, 
grew  great  and  glorious  in  the  eyes  of  all,  as 
her  self-abandoned  worshipper  decked  her  canopy 
with  loves  and  graces,  hurled  into  its  farthest 
recess  the  white  illuminative  rays  of  passion, 
heaped  up  at  her  feet  the  multitudinous  offering 
of  an  ardent  and  boundless  devotion.  The  en 
thusiastic  company  broke  out  in  loud  applause  ; 
they  stripped  the  terrace  of  its  myrtles  and  camel 
lias  and  showered  them  upon  the  poet  and  his 
lady.  Only  Theodor  von  Kaltenau  held  back. 
Bruno,  still  standing  tall  and  straight,  gave  him 
one  triumphal  glance,  and  threw  out  his  arms  with 
the  slightest  turn  of  the  head,  as  if  to  say : 

44  There  she  sits  !  " 

The  Freiherr  had  always  had  a  great  affinity 
for  such  abstractions  as  time  and  place :  he  could 
poetize  an  epoch  and  he  could  bestow  an  individual 
physiognomy  upon  a  town.  He  had  a  deep  sym 
pathy  for  things,  and  sometimes  even  felt  a  like 


162  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

sympathy  for  causes;  but  a  sympathetic  appre 
hension  of  men  and  women  he  had  never  greatly 
cultivated  —  this  was  his  chief  defect.  The  hour 
to  bring  the  remedy  had  struck.  The  various 
happenings  of  his  journey  southward  had  served 
to  rouse  his  dormant  interest  in  actual  life,  and 
now  a  fuller  revelation  was  at  hand.  What  every 
body  saw  he  too  must  see.  If  the  Marchesina 
could  sink  all  jealousies  and  shower  her  queen  with 
flowers,  could  he  do  less?  If  ancient  Balanzoni 
were  to  be  observed  running  hither  and  thither  with 
trailing  festoons  of  smilax  in  his  hands,  must  he 
himself  stand  purblind  and  palsied  ?  He  had  seen 
the  goddess  conducted  to  her  pedestal;  he  had 
seen  the  queen  seated  upon  her  throne :  what  was 
there  to  delay  the  dawn  ? 

The  youth  who  had  made  all  these  glories  visi 
ble  still  stood  in  his  place  and  still  seemed  to 
say: 

"  There  she  sits  !  " 

Von  Kaltenau  looked.  Ingenuous,  over-confi 
dent  Bruno,  who  had  shown  him  more  than  he  had 
asked  to  see ! 


PART  V.  —  APPLES  OF  DISCORD 


BRUNO  was  delighted  by  the  success  of  his  court 
of  love,  and  with  his  own  part  in  it,  nor  would 
he  acknowledge  that  the  other  ceremonial  within 
the  Greek  temple  had  been  in  the  slightest  degree 
a  failure.  His  histrionic  tastes  were  now  fully 
awakened,  and  his  mimetic  powers  were  growing 
with  every  fresh  exertion.  He  therefore  deter 
mined  upon  a  third  function  that  should  quite 
eclipse  the  other  two  ;  he  issued  a  decree  for  a 
costume  ball  that  should  serve  as  an  epitome  of 
Sicilian  history,  and  should  gather  to  one  splendid 
focus  all  the  glories  of  the  Island. 

He  summoned  Capoameno,  and  the  Marchese, 
in  his  capacity  of  major-domo,  promptly  attended. 

He  gave  the  Marchese  a  series  of  minute,  lavish 
and  diversified  instructions,  including  directions  to 
prepare  a  list  of  the  principal  dignitaries  and  per 
sonages  of  the  province. 

"  And  I  shall  ask  you  too  to  take  part,"  said 
Bruno,  in  conclusion,  "  as  well  as  that  young  Lu- 
cetta.  I  shall  know  how  to  manage  the  Greek 
side  of  it,  and  the  Carthaginian ;  and  there  will  be 
plenty  of  people  to  do  justice  to  the  Saracens  and 


164  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  Normans.  But  the  more  primitive  period  must 
be  represented  as  well :  I  should  like  a  pair  of  the 
early  Sikelians  to  come  down  from  their  hilltop 
and  mingle  with  the  rest  of  us." 

Filippo  conveyed  this  command  to  his  sister. 
The  Marchesina  flew  into  a  passion. 

"  This  is  an  outrage !  "  she  cried.  "  It  is  more 
than  I  can  stand !  It  is  more  than  anybody  could 
be  expected  to  stand  !  I  will  go  this  very  day  to 
that  presumptuous  boy  and  say  to  him :  Sir,  you 
are  a  blind  fool !  This  house  is  not  yours,  but  my 
brother's.  The  escutcheon  over  the  big  archway 
is  his.  The  wine  that  you  have  been  spilling  is 
his ;  the  horses  that  you  have  been  laming  "  — 

"Not  at  all,  my  dear  girl,"  interjected  Filippo. 

—  "  the  forbearance  that  you  have  been  abusing 
is  his ;  only  the  blind  folly  and  arrogance  of  it  all 
is  yours  !  You  have  set  aside  a  better  man  than 
yourself  in  his  own  house,  before  his  own  guests  ; 
you  have  treated  his  sister  with  the  familiar  impu 
dence  due  a  kitchen-maid  "  — 

"  How,  Lucetta  ?    Do  you  mean  that  he  "  — 

"  No,"  said  the  Marchesina,  "  not  exactly.  In 
truth,  the  foolish,  infatuated  fellow  won't  look  at 
me  at  all.  But  if  he  won't  look,  he  shall  listen !  " 

"  My  dear  sister,  your  doing  this  is  quite  out  of 
the  question.  Things  have  gone  too  far.  A  man 
may  be  dropped  from  a  balloon  at  the  height  of 
twenty  feet,  but  not  at  the  height  of  a  mile !  " 

"  We  are  still  to  submit,  then,  are  we  ?  I  am 
to  be  paraded  about  before  Violante  Astrofiam- 


APPLES   OF  DISCORD  165 

mante  as  a  Sikelian  savage,  am  I  ?  What  did  the 
Sikelian  savages  wear?  Skins?  And  did  they 
have  anything  on  their  heads  and  their  feet  ?  And 
while  we  are  paddling  about  in  such  a  guise,  Donna 
Violante  and  Montegrifone  will  be  doing  the  beau 
roles,  I  assure  you.  She  will  be  Arethusa  or  Pro 
serpine,  or  some  great  lady  from  the  court  of 
Hiero  or  of  Roger,  and  he  will  follow  her  about 
as  a  Bras  de  Fer  or  an  Alcibiades !  " 

"  We  must  endure  things  for  a  few  days  longer. 
The  end  is  in  sight.  Von  Kaltenau  says  that 
the" 

"  No,  it  is  too  much  —  still  another  disguise 
added  to  all  the  rest.  The  strain  is  becoming  too 
great.  Think  of  it !  —  persons  of  some  conse 
quence,  we  masquerade  as  servants ;  as  servants, 
we  are  ordered  to  masquerade  as  gentry  ;  and  as 
pretended  guests  we  are  further  required  to  run 
about  in  the  wolf-skins  and  matted  hair  of  the 
aboriginal  islanders.  Three  disguises  taken  on 
one  over  the  other !  My  brain  gives  out,  along 
with  my  pride  and  my  patience." 

"  The  end  is  in  sight,  as  I  was  saying.  Von 
Kaltenau  has  taken  this  young  man's  affairs  in 
hand,  and  they  are  all  but  arranged.  He  will 
know  the  precise  truth  about  himself  and  his  new 
belongings  within  a  few  days.  This  ball  will  be 
his  last  performance  here,  and  within  a  week  he 
will  be  in  full  possession  of  his  own  proper 
estates." 

Lucetta  sidled  away,  pouting ;  she  seemed  as  if 


166  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

improvising  a  step  that  should  bring  an  early  Sike- 
lian  maid  —  though  much  against  her  will  —  down 
from  the  tribal  stronghold. 


II 

Donna  Violante  was  soon  made  to  feel  that  she 
was  expected  to  take  a  dazzling  part  in  Monte- 
grifone's  coming  capo  tfopera.  She  listened 
quietly  to  all  of  Bruno's  unbridled  suggestions, 
and  then  talked  them  over  with  Theodor  von 
Kaltenau. 

This  involved  the  spending  of  odd  half-hours  in 
the  shade  of  the  oleander  grove  near  the  great 
fountain,  or  under  the  tall  group  of  stone  pines 
that  shadowed  a  marble  bench  just  beneath  one 
corner  of  the  wide  terrace.  Bruno  had  opened  his 
friend's  eyes  to  the  beauty  of  the  world  about  him, 
and  now  his  middle-aged  pupil  was  beginning  to 
perceive,  though  dimly,  the  interest  to  be  got  out 
of  the  people  inhabiting  it.  Youth  and  beauty 
and  ardor  were  making  themselves  felt. 

Violante  received  von  Kaltenau's  measured  at 
tentions  with  much  amiability  and  no  scant  mea 
sure  of  appreciation.  She  had  been  a  good  deal 
in  the  sun  of  late,  and  a  little  period  of  shadow 
was  grateful.  The  sun  is  glorious  and  masterful 
and  essential  —  it  is  the  life  and  centre  of  the  sys 
tem  wherein  we  hold  our  atomic  place ;  but  no  one 
can  stand  an  uninterrupted  exposure  to  it  through 
the  long  summer  day.  Bruno  had  blazed  royally, 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  167 

had  burned  down  with  an  imperious  fierceness.  No 
passing  cloud  of  diffidence  had  interposed  to  give 
even  the  briefest  respite  to  the  girl  upon  whom  all 
the  rays  of  his  being  converged,  and  who,  faint 
and  dazzled,  now  felt  the  need  of  a  moment's 
shade.  Theodor  von  Kaltenau  offered  it.  She 
liked  his  cool,  subdued  manner ;  his  measured 
voice,  speaking  of  interests  less  exclusively  per 
sonal  than  those  that  moved  Bruno,  rested  her ; 
and  she  was  flattered  to  be  addressed  as  a  mature 
and  serious  person  by  a  man  so  much  her  senior. 
It  was  pleasant  to  be  able  to  abandon  her  hand 
for  a  moment  upon  the  bench  with  some  assurance 
that  it  would  not  instantly  be  caught  up  by  an  im 
pulsive  youth  close  beside  her.  It  was  agreeable 
to  be  allowed  to  adjust  a  flying  lock  at  the  nape 
of  the  neck  without  feeling  that  a  pair  of  brown 
eyes  and  a  pair  of  brown  hands  were  instant  to  see 
and  to  assist.  Von  Kaltenau  indeed  saw  the  hand, 
abandoned  to  the  kindred  whiteness  of  the  marble 
or  raised  to  put  the  fluttering  lock  in  place,  and 
she  knew  that  he  saw  it,  and  that  he  had  only  just 
begun  to  see  it ;  but  she  felt  sure  that  he  was  not 
preparing  to  dispute  with  her  over  her  own  mas 
tery  of  it. 

Bruno,  with  the  scant  ceremony  of  one  whose 
rights  were  paramount,  would  now  and  then  ob 
trude  upon  one  of  these  slow,  grave  and  quiet 
conferences,  as  it  went  on  in  its  corner  of  the  ter 
race  or  round  the  curb  of  the  old  Byzantine  well. 
Then  Theodor  would  nod  and  Violante  would 


168  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

smile  and  neither  of  them  would  be  quick  to 
bring  their  little  talk  to  a  close,  or  to  give  Bruno 
a  definite  share  in  it.  Once,  when  he  approached 
them  in  the  courtyard,  they  greeted  him  without 
removing  their  elbows  from  the  edge  of  the  well 
or  lifting  their  eyes  from  the  fern-lined  shaft  down 
which  they  were  both  abstractedly  looking.  Such 
things  disconcerted  and  irritated  Bruno,  and  Monna 
Clotilde,  who  sometimes  saw  his  incipient  frown, 
could  not  restrain  her  ominous  smile. 

Bruno  had  frankly  disliked  the  woman  from  the 
beginning,  and  now  his  vaguely-stirring  need  for 
some  scapegoat  opened  his  lips  against  her.  "  My 
dear  Theodor,"  he  said  one  day  to  von  Kaltenau, 
"  her  presence  here  is  no  advantage."  What  she 
had  done  for  Malevento,  he  may  have  thought  she 
might  do,  too,  for  him. 

"You  are  right,"  rejoined  the  Freiherr;  "she 
is  no  suitable  companion  for  Donna  Violante. 
How  did  they  meet  ?  " 

"  The  poor  girl,  on  leaving  home,  took  refuge 
in  a  church  —  frightened  by  her  own  impulsive 
action.  They  met  there." 

"  Ha  ! "  muttered  the  Freiherr;  "  a  church  once 
more.  I  could  wish  the  woman  well  away  from 
here,"  he  added. 

"  Let  me  send  her  away,"  blurted  out  Bruno. 

"  If  the  one  went,  the  other  would  not  stay. 
With  all  her  demerits,  Clotilde  is  at  least  defi 
nitely  a  duenna.  She  will  have  to  remain." 


APPLES   OF  DISCORD  169 


III 

Other  eyes  besides  those  of  Monna  Clotilde 
saw  von  Kaltenau's  growing  interest  in  Violante. 
Mam'zelle  Hedwig  now  began  to  droop  her  eye 
lids  plaintively  and  to  give  vent  to  small,  patient 
sighs,  and  to  feel  it  were  well  to  let  her  little  day 
dream  dissipate  before  its  outlines  should  become 
too  clear.  There  had  been  times  when  she  had 
ventured  on  the  arch  and  the  coquettish  with 
Theodor  von  Kaltenau,  and  when  he  had  appeared 
to  meet  her  more  than  half  way ;  and  young 
Bruno  and  others  had  lifted  their  eyebrows  ever 
so  slightly,  and  had  seemed  to  look  upon  the 
gentle,  gentle  dalliance  of  such  a  pair  as  an  in 
structive  exhibition  of  middle-aged  misjudgment, 
and  as  a  living  example  of  the  error  and  the  folly 
of  picking  up  the  component  parts  of  life  regard 
less  of  their  proper  succession.  Yes,  Theodor  was 
right :  the  meal  must  be  served  in  regular  courses, 
the  book  must  be  read  in  regular  order  ;  the  turn 
ing  back  of  mature  people  upon  the  interests  of 
youth  was  an  awkwardness,  an  absurdity,  —  it  led 
to  contretemps,  it  led  to  laughter. 

Deprived  of  the  comfort  of  von  Kaltenau's  so 
ciety,  Mam'zelle  began  to  turn  her  wide  eyes  upon 
Capoameno  and  to  make  her  mature  smile  a  little 
more  decidedly  his.  The  subordinate  part  played 
by  so  personable  and  well-mannered  a  man  was 
still  a  mystery  to  her;  though  if  he  were  but  a 


170  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

poor  hanger-on  of  a  great  house  her  own  modest 
merits,  she  may  have  thought,  could  ask  for  no 
thing  more.  Filippo  met  her  advances  admirably; 
though  her  northern  gaucheries  gave  him  endless 
entertainment,  a  great  deal  of  tolerance  went  with 
his  amusement,  and  no  slight  appreciation  of  her 
essential  qualities. 

"  You  might  count  for  more  here  than  you  do," 
she  said  to  him  one  day ;  having  gained  her  own 
liberty,  it  pained  her  to  see  another  still  in  sub 
jection. 

"  I  have  counted  for  more  than  I  do,"  he  re 
turned. 

"  You  should  place  a  higher  value  upon  your 
self." 

"  I  have  been  taught  the  value  of  humility." 

"  Humility  is  not  for  you.  Assert  yourself. 
Lay  hold  on  what  you  want." 

"  Everything  has  been  taken.  The  beau  role 
has  been  snatched  away ;  I  am  nothing  now  but  a 
conquered  savage." 

"  Savage  ?  I  cannot  grant  that.  I  have  never 
met  a  man  more  fully  civilized.  You  can  never 
come  to  savagery," 

"  Then  the  savages  have  come  to  me.  They 
have  borne  down  upon  my  civilization.  At  any 
rate,  I  am  conquered  —  the  victorious  chief  sets 
his  foot  upon  my  neck  and  raises  a  shout  of  tri 
umph." 

"  We  are  the  savages,  then  —  we  from  the 
North  ?  But  the  South  will  do  what  it  has  always 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  171 

done  for  the  barbarians  :  it  softens  them,  it  tames 
them  ;  they  remain,  they  cannot  get  away  "  — 

Filippo  gasped.  A  week  or  less,  he  had  hoped, 
would  see  Belriguardo  his  own  again. 

—  "  the  soft  air  enchants  us ;  the  blue  sky,  the 
bluer  sea,  delights  us  ;  the  glorious  vegetation  of 
early  spring  transports  us.  The  monuments  invite 
us  to  study ;  the  long  procession  of  glittering 
dynasties  absorbs  us.  We  forget  the  gray  skies 
that  overhang  our  own  bleak  mountains  ;  we  for 
get  the  long,  cold  winter  of  the  North.  All  is 
light,  beauty,  serenity,  joy.  Hearts  are  expansive ; 
thoughts  are  kind.  We  feel  that  at  last  we  have 
come  into  our  own.  This  is  what  we  have  hoped 
for,  dreamed  of,  longed  for ;  we  are  here  —  here  — 
here,  —  and  who  will  drive  us  back  ?  " 

As  Mam'zelle  improvised  this  little  rhapsody 
(which  was  to  be  set  down  in  due  time,  in  violet 
ink,  like  her  previous  production),  she  opened  her 
wide  virginal  eyes  more  widely  still  upon  wonder 
ing  Filippo,  and  threw  out  her  arms  with  a  con 
fiding  gesture  of  modest  and  impersonal  passion, 
and  made  it  manifest  that  now  at  last  her  eyes 
saw  the  sights,  her  ears  heard  the  sounds,  her 
lungs  breathed  the  very  air  that  destiny,  however 
thwarted,  had  from  the  first  decreed.  Filippo, 
much  awed  by  this  gothic  expression  of  resolute 
tenacity,  began  to  wonder  whether  Bruno's  brief 
day  would  end  so  early  after  all,  and  whether  Bel 
riguardo  were  ever  to  lapse  to  the  control  of  its 
proper  master. 


172  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


IV 

Meanwhile  the  entire  household  was  deep  in  the 
study  of  myth,  of  legend,  of  history  ancient  and 
medieval :  the  coming  fete  was  to  resume  all  that 
was  most  striking  and  brilliant  in  the  long  roll  of 
the  many-storied  island.  Bruno  had  determined 
to  make  himself  the  central  figure  of  the  pageant, 
and  swept  a  quick  eye  over  all  the  flotsam  and  jet 
sam  with  which  the  wreck  of  empires  had  strewn 
the  Sicilian  shores.  He  thought  first  of  Hiero  of 
Syracuse,  the  ideal  Greek  tyrant ;  Hiero,  energetic, 
successful,  refined,  artistic,  witty,  popular  —  yet 
with  the  iron  fist  clenched  within  the  velvet  glove  ; 
Hiero,  walking  into  the  theatre,  a  tall,  stately  per 
son  in  the  short  tunic  of  a  warrior,  with  a  regal 
circlet  among  his  curling  locks,  and  attended  by 
a  Pindar  and  an  2Eschylus  .  .  .  No,  it  was  all 
too  formidable,  too  grandiose ;  something  simpler 
must  be  found.  He  thought  of  Alcibiades,  the 
curled  darling  with  the  broad  fillet  on  his  scented 
locks,  and  the  engaging  lisp,  and  the  profile  of  a 
statued  god,  and  the  gold-embroidered  chlamys,  — 
Alcibiades,  who  stood  in  the  theatre  of  Catania 
and  harangued  the  fascinated  crowd  while  the 
Athenian  fleet  stole  into  their  harbor  .  .  .  No,  to 
be  Alcibiades  was  to  be  an  effeminate  trickster. 
Let  us  have  something  more  vigorous,  more  bar 
baric.  He  thought  of  Hannibal  and  of  Himilco, 
and  saw  himself  arrayed  in  a  long  black  robe 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  173 

flowered  with  gold;  upon  his  head  a  coronet  of 
pearls  in  many  tiers,  like  a  initre  ;  round  his  throat 
a  necklace  of  dusky  stones  engraved  with  cabalis 
tic  signs ;  and  to  end  with,  bracelets  and  anklets 
of  uncut  gems.  Then  he  threw  himself  upon  a  big- 
limbed  Tunisian  horse,  —  a  beast  shaved  from  head 
to  tail,  maneless,  earless,  with  a  silver  horn  set  on 
his  forehead  ;  or  he  mounted  into  a  brass  tower  on 
the  back  of  some  elephant  with  painted  ears  and  a 
caparison  wrought  in  tiny  scales  of  bronze  .  .  . 

He  laughed  at  the  impossibility  of  realizing 
these  African  excesses  and  openly  confessed  to 
the  assembled  company  his  fear  that  the  Cartha 
ginian  epoch  in  Sicilian  history  must  go  unre 
presented.  But  aid  came  from  an  unlooked-for 
quarter.  The  Lady  of  Quality,  who  had  shyly 
informed  them  a  few  days  before  that  her  given 
name  was  Sophonisba,  now  offered  to  support  the 
weight  of  this  historic  appellation :  she  would  ap 
pear,  unless  prevented,  as  the  daughter  of  Has- 
drubal  and  the  wife  of  Syphax,  and  would  carry 
through  the  mazes  of  the  grand  procession  as  much 
barbaric  splendor  as  the  part  required. 

"  Good,"  cried  Capoameno,  jumping  up  in  a  mo 
ment  of  self-forgetfulness,  and  clapping  his  hands. 
"Carthage  remains  indestructible,  after  all!  " 

Bruno  looked  severely  at  the  Marchese,  as  if  he 
had  transgressed  the  utmost  bounds  permitted,  and 
poor  browbeaten  Filippo  sank  back  into  silence. 

Then  Bruno  passed  on,  naturally  enough,  from 
the  Carthaginians  to  the  Komans.  But  the  only 


174  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

Romans  who  had  made  any  great  figure  in  Sicily 
were  Marcellus,  who  wept  over  Syracuse  before 
plundering  it,  and  Verres,  who  plundered  it  with 
out  weeping  over  it  at  all.  Then  there  was  the 
Saracenic  emir  that  had  done  as  much  at  a  later 
date,  but  nobody  could  recall  his  name. 

Then  came  the  young  eagles  of  the  Norman 
house  of  Hauteville,  each  fired  with  a  lordly  deter 
mination  to  clutch  in  his  talons  a  kingdom  all  his 
own:  Roger,  Drogo,  Robert,  Raymond,  Tancred, 
—  turbulent,  eloquent,  romantic  ;  bold,  lighthanded 
robbers,  with  clanking  coat  of  mail  and  sturdy 
round  helmet  and  ponderous  battle-axe.  There 
were  a  round  dozen  of  them.  Which  to  choose  ? 

Why  not  pass  them  all  by  and  elect  to  be  their 
great  descendant,  the  Emperor  Frederick  the  Sec 
ond  ?  —  Frederick,  Southron-born,  for  whom  Sicily 
was  always  the  favorite  part  of  his  empire,  and  for 
whom  all  men  and  all  creeds  were  as  one ;  Fred 
erick,  who  spoke  alike  Greek,  Arabic,  Latin,  and 
the  new-formed  Italian ;  Frederick,  whose  court 
was  thronged  with  the  miscreant  beauties  of  the 
Mohammedan  world,  no  less  than  by  poets,  artists, 
and  philosophers,  and  who  returned  from  his  cru 
sade  against  the  Sultan  of  Egypt  with  a  bevy  of 
dancing-girls,  the  Sultan's  own  gift;  Frederick, 
who  spent  the  days  in  genial  rivalry  of  poesy  with 
his  own  sonneteering  chancellor  —  ah,  decidedly 
such  would  be  a  gallant,  salient,  brilliant  figure  ! 
Then  his  consort.  If  Bruno  were  Frederick  him 
self,  why  should  not  Violante  — 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  175 

But  no  ;  a  moment's  thought  led  to  a  moment's 
investigation.  Frederick,  it  appeared,  had  had  not 
one  consort  but  four.  And  beautiful  were  their 
names,  —  Constance,  lolanthe,  Isabella,  Bianca, — 
but  far  too  numerous.  "  So  fickle,  so  forgetful !  " 
said  Bruno.  "  Let  him  pass." 

Little  seemed  left  now  short  of  the  Sicilian  Ves 
pers.  But  nobody  cared  to  obtrude  the  thought  of 
a  massacre  upon  the  festivities,  and  nothing  re 
mained  but  to  begin  at  the  beginning  and  go  over 
the  ground  again.  The  earliest  mythology  yielded 
all  at  once  the  name  of  Acis. 

"  Acis  —  and  Galatea,"  said  Dottore  Balanzoni. 

"Yes,  Acis  and  Galatea,"  croaked  Monna  Clo- 
tilde,  from  the  edge  of  the  group,  as  she  glanced 
toward  Theodor  and  Yiolante,  who  were  seated  a 
little  apart  in  low- voiced  converse  ;  "  and  Polyphe 
mus,  rushing  down  the  side  of  ^Etna  to  hurl  his 
rocks  after  them  !  " 


V 

Violante  showed  herself  willing  to  fall  in  with 
Bruno's  ideas,  whatever  turn  they  might  ultimately 
take  ;  but  she  gave  him  acquiescence  rather  than 
enthusiasm  —  merely  expressing  a  hope  that  the 
final  arrangement  would  permit  her  to  wear  a 
simple  classical  costume,  beyond  which  she  hardly 
cared  to  go.  Bruno,  remembering  the  peplum  she 
had  worn  at  the  ball  in  Rome,  was  far  from  inter 
posing  an  objection,  but  he  resented  her  lack  of 


176  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

positive  enthusiasm :  objection,  controversy,  even 
a  little  vulgar  bickering  would  be  better  than  this 
placid  assent. 

"You  are  losing  your  interest,"  he  said  reproach 
fully. 

"  Not  at  all,"  she  rejoined. 

"  You  don't  care  about  pleasing  me." 

"  Pleasing  you  ?  "  repeated  Violante,  with  a  flash 
of  the  eye.  "  Does  it  not  seem  to  you  that  I  have 
done  enough,  even  if  I  do  not  try  to  please  you  ? 
It  was  a  great  deal  for  me  to  enter  here,  and  a 
great  deal  more  for  me  to  allow  myself  to  remain 
here." 

"Forgive  me,"  said  Bruno.  "But  you  care 
nothing  for  my  ideas.  Have  you  been  getting  ideas 
from  —  from  some  one  else  ?  " 

"From  whom?" 

"From — from  that  painter.  He  follows  you 
about  all  the  time  begging  you  to  let  him  do  your 
portrait  "  — 

"  Many  others  have  done  the  same.  And  this 
one,  surely,  has  claims  to  my  consideration ! " 

"He  had  two  hours  of  your  time,  yesterday. 
Has  he  begun  work  ?  " 

"  On  a  sketch." 

"  I  know  their  ideas ! "  said  Bruno,  irritably. 
"  While  I  was  waiting  up  and  down  that  jasmin- 
walk,  he  was  filling  your  head  full  of  bangles  and 
jackets  and  fezzes  and  those  flowing  trousers  "  — 

"  And  since  I  have  decided  to  go  in  Greek  dress, 
you  may  be  sure  that  I  have  declined  any  such  sug- 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  177 

gestions.  And  if  I  go  as  a  Greek,  you  ought  to 
know  why." 

Bruno  did  know  why :  it  was  in  memory  of  their 
first  meeting.  "  But  they  all  run  after  you,"  he 
went  on  pugnaciously.  "  They  take  your  time  ; 
they  demand  your  attention ;  they  override  the 
just  claims  of  others.  What  do  you  find,  for  ex 
ample,  in  that  great  uncouth  creature  who  is  al 
ways  pursuing  you  through  the  garden,  racking  his 
hands  and  working  his  features,  and  trying  to  vent 
poems  that  never  come  ?  " 

"  He,  too,  is  entitled  to  considerate  treatment  — 
from  both  of  us." 

"  He  never  even  wet  his  feet !  "  cried  Bruno, 
angrily  ;  "  while  / —  why,  I  would  have  "  — 

"  'Sh,"  said  Yiolante,  dropping  her  eyes  for  an 
instant.  "  And  I  suppose  I  have  been  receiving 
suggestions  from  him,"  she  went  on,  — "even 
from  the  dumb  ?  " 

"  No,  no  ;  but  "  - 

"Then  I  am  accepting  a  little  attention,  now 
and  then,  from  that  professor  from  Ley  den,  per 
haps  ?  —  a  grave,  reticent  person,  old  enough  to  be 
my  father,  almost  my  grandfather.  Poor  old 
gentleman !  —  do  you  think  a  little  youth,  a  little 
pleasure,  a  little  sweetness  put  into  his  life  must 
be  just  so  much  taken  out  of  yours  ?  " 

"I  —  I  do  not  mean  Dottore  Balanzoni,"  stam 
mered  Bruno.  "  I  never  gave  him  a  thought." 

"  Then  you  must  mean  that  unaccountable  indi 
vidual  who  sits  every  evening  at  your  table  in  a 


178  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

shiny  coat,  and  whom,  despite  his  good  looks  and 
his  charming  manners  —  even  if  they  are  a  little 
too  subdued  —  you  browbeat  so  unpityingly  "  — 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Bruno ;  "  that  fellow !  I  should 
like  to  hear  of  Ms  presuming  in  the  slightest  de 
gree  upon  your  favor.  And  if  I  should  learn  that 

you"  — 

"  And  now  you  are  browbeating  me  !  " 

"  Not  at  all !  I  never  browbeat  anybody  !  I 
never  had  the  least  thought  of  browbeating  you  !  " 

"  You  have  been  browbeating  me  for  the  last  ten 
minutes.  How  much  longer  is  it  to  last  ?  How 
much  longer  do  you  think  I  will  endure  it  ?  " 

"  And  how  much  longer  do  you  think  I  will  en 
dure  your  slighting  of  me  and  your  open  partiality 
for  Theodor  von  "  — 

"  Ah  !  "  cried  Violante.  "  It  is  Herr  von  Kal- 
tenau,  then  ?  If  that  is  the  case,  let  me  tell  you 
what  I  think  of  him.  I  think  he  is  a  very  esti 
mable  and  interesting  man.  I  like  his  gravity  ;  I 
like  his  quietness.  I  like  his  ability  to  rise  above 
trivial  personalities.  I  like  his  way  of  treating  me 
as  a  person  of  sense,  and  as  if  I  were  his  equal  — 
which  heaven  knows  is  far  from  the  case  —  in  dis 
cretion.  I  feel  free  to  say  that  he  pipes  a  very 
pleasant,  restful  little  tune :  must  I  have  the  drums 
and  trumpets  dinning*  in  my  ears  continually?" 

"  Am  I  the  drums  and  trumpets  ?  " 

"  Yes,  and  the  cymbals,  too  !  " 

"  You  shall  enjoy  silence  at  once  !  "  he  declared 
angrily,  going. 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  179 

"  Foolish  boy !  "  she  exclaimed  ;  "  stay  where 
you  are  —  only  quiet  down  this  dreadful  fortis 
simo." 

But  Bruno  flung  himself  away  in  a  rage  ;  and 
after  a  short  concluding  measure  filled  out  by 
rests,  the  interview  came  to  an  end  with  a  double 
bar  —  one  that  delayed  reconciliation  for  some 
hours. 

VI 

For  some  time  after  this  all  mention  of  Acis  and 
Galatea  ceased.  And  when,  that  evening,  poor 
Bruno,  taking  a  moonlight  stroll  through  his 
stately  pleasance,  came  upon  a  well-remembered 
bower  only  to  find  Donna  Yiolante  and  Theodor 
von  Kaltenau  seated  there  in  easy  yet  self-absorbed 
converse,  the  abolition  of  all  mythology  seemed  im 
minent  and  desirable.  The  roses  rioted  over  the 
heads  of  this  oblivious  pair,  and  a  nightingale,  in 
some  distant  thicket  poured  forth  its  sympathetic 
passion ;  and  Monna  Clotilde,  hovering  near,  smelt 
unwillingly  at  the  flower-beds.  Bruno  rebelled  ;  it 
was  his  bower,  his  moon,  his  rose-thicket,  his 
nightingale.  And  the  man  who  dared  to  call  him 
self  his  friend  had  taken  possession  of  this  whole 
enchanting  domain  and  even  usurped  a  rightful 
lover's  place.  Bruno  resolved  to  throw  himself 
away  —  and  upon  the  most  abject  creature  within 
his  ken. 

Of  course  he  had  made  a  mistaken  estimate  of 
von  Kaltenau's  attitude.  The  Freiherr,  even  when 


180  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

aided  by  the  revealing  power  of  his  young  friend's 
vision,  had  reached,  as  yet,  nothing  like  a  plenary 
illumination.  He  had  merely  come  —  now  that 
another  had  favored  him  with  so  positive  a  de 
monstration  —  to  a  consciousness  (nor  too  vivid 
a  one)  of  Donna  Violante's  exquisiteness.  He 
viewed  her  through  a  glass  —  not  darkly,  but 
through  the  teasing,  provocative  glass  that  while 
more  than  translucent  is  still  less  than  transpar 
ent.  He  saw,  too,  with  a  borrowed  eye  and  with 
a  borrowed  appreciation. 

But  Bruno  credited  Theodor  with  his  own  pene 
trative  vision  and  his  own  rapt  estimate.  And  in 
his  heart  he  condemned  Donna  Violante  as  false. 
She  was  of  far  too  stately  and  self-centred  a  char 
acter  to  be  accused  of  such  lightnesses  as  coquetry 
and  frivolity.  He  passed  at  once  to  the  last  and 
lowest  word  in  his  vocabulary  :  she  was  false. 

Yes,  he  should  throw  himself  away  —  upon  Lu- 
cetta ;  and  Donna  Violante,  informed  of  the  true 
standing  of  this  pretended  guest,  should  learn  that 
he  had  been  deprived  of  nothing  that  a  mere  serv 
ing-maid  could  not  replace. 

The  Marchesina,  actuated  half  by  pique  and 
half  by  a  mere  sense  of  fun,  jumped  into  the 
breach.  She  ordered  her  double  part  with  a 
steady  hand.  She  brought  out  all  sorts  of  shabby 
finery  from  some  reservoir  unsuspected  yet  seem 
ingly  inexhaustible,  and  she  garnished  her  talk 
and  manner  with  a  variety  of  familiar  little  vul 
garisms  that  left  her  new  cavalier  in  a  teasing 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  181 

state  of  uncertainty  as  to  whether  he  should  laugh 
or  should  chide.  She  frisked,  she  pirouetted,  she 
coquetted,  with  what  seemed  to  Bruno  to  be  the 
most  appalling  license  —  her  station  considered. 
She  enjoyed  the  wonder  and  then  the  dark  dis 
pleasure  of  Violante  ;  she  took  the  full  revenge  of 
the  short,  sprightly  little  creature  upon  one  whose 
height  and  stately  bearing  placed  others,  less  fa 
vored,  at  a  disadvantage.  And,  to  end  with,  she 
exacted  that  Bruno  should  be  her  escort  at  the 
ball.  This  was  further  than  he  had  meant  to  go, 
but  she  insisted  tenaciously. 

"  You  shall  be  Richard,  Coeur  de  Lion,  of  Eng 
land,"  she  said,  "  and  I  shall  be  Berengaria  of 
Navarre.  They  were  married  at  Messina,  which 
brings  them  well  within  our  lines." 

And  yet,  for  all  her  plebeian  origin,  she  was  a 
fetching  little  creature.  She  had  a  merry  eye,  a 
plump  little  hand,  a  cheery  tip  to  her  saucy  nose 
—  she  was  just  the  sort  of  sprightly  wench  who 
would  determine  to  parade  it  as  a  queen.  Then 
there  came  up  before  his  eye  the  kingly  coat  of 
mail,  the  battle-axe,  the  grandiloquent  blazonry  of 
Richard's  shield  .  .  . 


VII 

Meanwhile  the  rest  of  Belriguardo's  company 
went  on  fitting  themselves  out  with  suitable  char 
acters  —  characters  developed  through  their  own 
researches  or  suggested  by  helpful  friends.  The 


182  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

ransacking  of  history  and  of  mythology  yielded 
limitless  spoils.  One  ingenious  spirit  suggested 
that  Dottore  Balanzoni  appear  as  Empedocles, 
wearing  the  guise  in  which  that  philosopher  was 
wont  to  roam  the  slopes  of  JEtna  :  the  purple  robe, 
the  Delphic  crown,  the  betraying  iron  sandals. 
Another  suggested  Gasparone,  the  bandit  chief, 
who  ruled  over  those  same  slopes  from  his  Bene 
dictine  convent,  robed  as  the  general  of  the  order 
and  eating  in  the  refectory  with  a  sentinel  at  the 
door  and  a  pair  of  pistols  at  every  plate.  Another 
brought  up  Timoleon  of  Corinth,  who  crossed  the 
sea  to  free  Sicily  from  her  multiplying  brood  of 
tyrants,  and  who  brought  the  statues  of  his  prede 
cessors  to  his  judgment-bar  and  dealt  them  out 
their  deserts  as  living  men. 

Suggestions  for  the  ladies  came  with  equal 
facility.  Ceres  must  appear  just  as  she  first  ap 
peared  on  the  Catanian  plain,  teaching  man  by 
her  own  example  to  sow  his  seed.  Nor  must  Cha- 
rybdis  fail,  said  Capoameno.  She  should  leave 
her  whirlpool  as  should  Scylla  her  cavern  over  the 
way,  and  let  both  tread  a  pacific  measure  to  Monte- 
grifone's  music.  He  showed  his  imperfect  appre 
ciation  of  Mam'zelle  Hedwig  and  his  intuitive 
dislike  of  Monna  Clotilde  by  adding  half  audibly 
that  the  first  might  impersonate  the  one  and  the 
second  the  other.  And  there  was  Lai's,  too, — 
Lai's,  snatched  in  her  young  years  from  her  natal 
coast  and  carried  by  the  Greeks  to  Athens,  to  be 
the  rival  of  Phryne,  and  to  be  stoned  to  death  in 


APPLES   OF   DISCORD  183 

the  temple  of  Aphrodite  by  an  infuriate  band  of 
her  own  sex  .  .  .  But  no ;  why  pursue  the  sug 
gestion  ?  Rather  commemorate  the  theft  of  Pro 
serpine  from  the  banks  of  the  Lago  Pergusa,  or 
duplicate  the  pomps  and  splendors  of  the  wives  of 
the  Spanish  viceroys. 

Donna  Violante  heard  these  facetious  observa 
tions,  but  did  not  smile.  Rather  did  she  look  upon 
the  course  of  things  with  a  grave  displeasure,  and 
Monna  Clotilde,  a  good  second,  helped  to  hold  her 
firmly  in  countenance. 

"Your  friends,  my  poor  child,  have  saved  you 
from  one  man,"  she  said  to  the  indignant  girl ; 
"  and  soon  the  time  will  come  when  they  "  —  this 
plural  pronoun  meant  Monna  Clotilde  alone  — 
"  must  save  you  from  another.  I  know  the  world 
of  men,  I  do  ;  who  better  ?  Open  your  heart  and 
you  will  be  flouted  ;  trust  and  you  will  be  be 
trayed.  Tell  me,  my  poor  girl,  do  you  know  in 
what  character  our  young  host  is  to  appear,  and 
with  whom  ?" 

"  No,"  stammered  Violante. 

"You  ought  to.  And  you  shall.  I  will  tell 
you,"  declared  the  worthy  woman,  and  she  did  so. 
"  And  as  for  me,"  she  added,  "  if  I  must  go  to  this 
foolish  ball  impending,  I  go  as  Atropos  or  not  at 
all!" 

And  Monna  Clotilde,  assuming  her  tragedy 
frown  and  her  tragedy  stride,  withdrew  grandly. 


184  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


VIII 

Donna  Violante  summoned  Bruno  de'  Brunelli 
to  the  judgment  seat.  She  made  no  delay;  she 
depended  in  no  degree  upon  favoring  chance.  She 
did  not  send  looks  of  piteous  injury  widely  afield 
with  the  remote  hope  that  they  might  find  the 
target,  nor  did  she  loiter  slowly  with  drooping 
head  along  distant  garden-paths  that  she  might 
be  overtaken  and  placated  in  tones  of  honeyed 
apology.  Her  character  was  of  an  integrity  to 
match  the  simple  seamlessness  of  some  monolithic 
monument.  She  saw  no  equal  within  her  range 
of  vision  and  proudly  disdained  anything  that 
savored  of  finesse,  diplomacy,  subterfuge. 

Bruno  came,  and  drummed  his  fingers  on  the 
edge  of  the  sun-dial  at  the  end  of  the  pleasance. 
He  seemed  almost  a  culprit  —  at  least  she  was 
determined  to  treat  him  as  one. 

"  Who  is  the  creature  ?  "  demanded  Violante, 
haughtily. 

"  That  is  just  the  question  she  asked  me  about 
you,"  replied  Bruno,  the  culprit,  sturdily. 

"  She  called  me  a  creature  ?  " 

"  Assuredly  not.  Her  sense  of  respect,  of  pro 
priety,  her  sense  of  duty  toward  me  and  my  guests 
would  have  prevented  such  an  expression." 

"  She  asked  who  I  was,  you  say?  " 

"  Who  you  were ;  what  you  were ;  where  you 
were  from." 


APPLES    OF   DISCORD  185 

"  You  were  able  to  tell  her.     Did  you  ?  " 

"Not  too  specifically." 

"  In  other  words,  she  spoke  slightingly  of  me 
and  you  found  nothing  to  say  in  my  defense." 

"  You  stand  in  no  need  of  defense." 

"  I  am  not  so  sure.  I  was  in  error  when  I  let 
myself  be  persuaded  to  come  within  your  gates, 
and  every  day  of  my  stay  has  made  my  error  less 
defensible." 

"  My  gates  stand  wide.  I  am  keeping  open 
house.  You  are  free  here  —  anybody  is,  every 
body  is." 

"  'Anybody,  everybody  ' !  —  that,  indeed,  raises 
my  value  in  my  own  eyes  !  —  This  pert  young  chit 
—  are  you  going  to  tell  me  who  she  is  ?  " 

"  Not  too  specifically  —  unless  you  positively 
insist." 

"I  do ;  let  me  have  more  about  that  sense  of 
duty." 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  not." 

"  I  do.  That  sense  of  propriety  —  what  does  it 
mean?" 

"  Very  well,  then  :  she  is  a  member  of  my  house 
hold." 

"A  member  of  your  household?  What  may 
that  signify,  pray  ?  " 

"  I  beg  you  will  not  question  me  further." 

"  A  member  of  your  household !  You  are  defi 
nite,  indeed  !  What  am  I  to  understand  ?  " 

"  She  is  a  serving-maid." 

"  Associating  with  your  guests  ?  " 


186  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Under  stress  of  circumstances." 

"  And  employed  to  affront  me  ?  Do  you  think 
I  will  stay  here  an  hour  longer  ?  I  came  suddenly ; 
I  can  go  suddenly." 

"  You  will  stay,"  said  Bruno,  steadily.  "  And 
you  will  not  impute  unworthy  motives." 

"  Stay  ?  I  shall  not  stay  a  moment !  I  have 
stayed  too  long  already.  Nothing  can  excuse  the 
wretchedly  mistaken  impulse  that  led  me  here.  I 
will  find  Monna  Clotilde.  We  will  leave  at  once." 

"  If  you  go,"  said  Bruno,  immovably,  "  I  shall 
follow  you.  You  shall  not  escape  me  again." 

"  I  forbid  you." 

"  I  shall  follow  you.  Take  your  choice :  will 
you  have  me  by  your  side  here  under  a  sheltering 
roof  that  justifies  all,  and  among  a  goodly  com 
pany  of  friends  to  keep  you  thoroughly  in  coun 
tenance,  or  will  you  have  me  journeying  alongside 
over  the  public  highway  ?  "  He  paused  a  moment, 
that  she  might  see  them  both  travelling  the  same 
road,  passing  through  the  same  villages,  stabling 
their  horses  in  the  same  innyards,  and  subjecting 
their  actions  to  the  same  comment.  "  I  shall  follow 
you,  infallibly.  Will  you  be  any  great  gainer  by 
the  change  ?  " 

Bruno,  severe,  immovable,  still  drummed  with 
his  sinewy  brown  hand  upon  the  edge  of  the  sun 
dial  ;  nothing  less  culprit-like  than  his  firm  gaze. 
Violante,  pursuing  her  journey,  could  see  no  end 
in  view,  —  save,  possibly,  the  distasteful  roof  from 
which  she  had  fled. 


APPLES   OF  DISCORD  187 

"  But  you  will  let  that  shameless  hussy  go  ?  " 
He  suppressed  a  smile,  knowing  that  flight  was 
stayed.  But  he  had  not  forgotten  the  many  hours 
stolen  from  him  by  Theodor  von  Kaltenau  —  a 
theft  Violante  herself  had  permitted  and  encour 
aged.  "  That  requires  consideration,"  he  said,  as 
he  left  her. 

And  Violante,  with  a  trembling  lip  and  a  few 
indignant  tears,  started  up  and  moved  off  rapidly 
in  the  opposite  direction. 

IX 

The  day  set  for  Bruno's  third  and  crowning 
function  arrived.  Filippo,  most  discreet  of  mas 
ters  of  ceremony,  had  revised  Bruno's  invitation- 
list  so  that  only  such  pezzi  grossi  of  the  province 
should  be  bidden  as  could  be  depended  upon  to 
preserve  a  scrupulous  respect  for  the  situation  as 
it  existed  and  as  it  must  exist  until  the  climax  of 
the  ball.  On  the  arrival  of  that  magical  moment 
the  contents  of  the  kaleidoscope  were  to  shift,  and 
new  forms  of  a  surpassing  beauty  and  grandeur 
were  suddenly  to  supersede  and  eclipse  the  old. 
For,  thanks  to  von  Kaltenau's  activity  and  to  the 
assistance  of  the  Marchese's  own  men  of  business, 
the  legal  proceedings  required  to  confirm  Bruno's 
rights  and  to  establish  him  in  the  enjoyment  of 
them  had  reached  a  successful  end:  the  last  for 
mal  documents  were  expected  to  arrive  during  the 
course  of  the  day.  Adieu,  then  —  with  many 


188  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

thanks  —  to  Belriguardo,  and  a  quick  entry  into 
other  estates  more  charming,  more  splendid,  in 
town  and  in  country,  —  villas  and  palaces,  orchards 
and  vineyards,  galleries,  chapels,  casinos  —  what 
you  will. 

The  Freiherr  lingered  with  Violante  upon  the 
great  terrace  of  Belriguardo.  The  sky  shone  cloud 
less  ;  the  breath  of  bay  and  laurel  came  borne  on 
the  wings  of  the  lightly-stirring  breeze ;  the  ruddy 
lateen-sails  of  the  fishing  boats  cut  the  high  line 
of  the  far  horizon ;  the  utmost  revelation  of  pro 
sperity  and  felicity  hung  imminent ;  and  all  things 
seemed  good.  The  coming  splendors  of  these  ma 
terial  pomps  —  in  whose  furtherance  von  Kaltenau 
himself  had  been  so  active  an  agent  —  shed  an 
illuminative  glow  upon  young  Bruno,  and  Bruno 
in  turn  shed  the  same  glow  upon  this  magnificent 
young  creature  at  Theodor's  own  side.  The  pride 
of  life  had  set  up  its  painted  and  coruscating  pane, 
and  he  saw  her  through  it  richly.  But  it  were 
easy  to  eliminate  the  middle  term,  Bruno,  and 
surely  more  noble  to  dispense  with  all  mere  exter 
nal  trappings.  This  left,  then,  only  the  ultimate 
beneficiary  in  all  her  brilliancy  and  graciousness, 
and  the  moving  cause  of  the  entire  enterprise  — 
for  thus  the  Freiherr  had  come  to  figure  himself 
—  in  all  the  gratified  surprise  of  a  final  and  com 
plete  awakening. 

Violante  breathed  a  faint  sigh  as  she  looked 
across  the  stirring  treetops  toward  the  sparkle  of 
the  distant  sea.  "  This  is  the  most  beautiful  spot 


APPLES  OF  DISCORD  189 

in  the  world,  and  this  the  most  beautiful  day  that 
our  visit  here  has  brought  us." 

"  There  are  more  beautiful  spots  still  awaiting 
us,"  said  the  Freiherr,  "  and  more  beautiful  days 
than  the  present  may  shine  upon  them.  Let  us 
forget  all  this  and  look  toward  the  future." 

"  Forget  it  ?  " 

"  Yes.  Belriguardo  is  but  a  passing  show,  an 
evanescent  dream.  To-morrow  ends  it.  To-morrow 
week  it  will  be  but  a  dim  memory  —  a  memory 
dulled  by  newer  splendors.'' 

"  To-morrow  ends  it  ?  " 

"  To-morrow,  or  the  day  after.  By  that  time 
Montegrifone  and  I  shall  be  moving  on  toward 
something  better  —  some  nobler  gate,  some  more 
gracious  garden.  The  little  company  here  will 
pass  through  the  one,  I  hope,  to  find  still  greater 
pleasure  in  the  other.  There  will  be  a  dozen  ser 
vitors  for  every  one  seen  here ;  for  every  rose,  a 
hundred ;  for  every  glory,  a  thousand  "  — 

Bruno  and  Lucetta  crossed  the  other  end  of  the 
terrace,  and  both  glanced  toward  Violante.  Lu 
cetta  seemed  more  arch  and  sprightly  than  ever, 
the  tip  of  her  nose  more  saucy,  the  smile  on  her 
lip  more  provocative.  Bruno's  face  wore  at  once 
a  smile  and  a  watchful  frown,  and  his  manner 
combined  gallantry  with  injured  dignity  in  such 
measure  as  to  mark  the  jealous  lover  consciously 
playing  a  part. 

"And  for  every  deceit  a  million!"  said  Vio 
lante,  vehemently. 


190  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"Deceit?" 

"  You  leave  to-morrow,  you  say  ?  Then  why 
have  I  been  urged  to  remain  ?  Is  it  one  deceit  the 
more  ?  Or  is  it  that  I  may  be  insulted,  up  to  the  last 
moment,  by  the  spectacle  of  a  vulgar  intrigue  ?  " 

"  A  vulgar  intrigue  ?  " 

"  Do  you  not  know  that  that  creature  "  —  Lu- 
cetta  and  Bruno  were  now  moving  off,  with  an 
elaborate  yet  wary  portrayal  of  gay  unconscious 
ness  —  "  is  a  mere  serving-maid  in  this  house  ?  " 

"  No,  no ;  you  are  wrong,  believe  me." 

"  Wrong  ?     Did  not  Montegrifone  himself  tell 

?*• 

The  Freiherr  groaned.  "  He  told  you  so  ?  Im 
possible  !  How  could  such  an  odious  thing  ever 
have  come  about  ?  " 

"I  — I"  — 

"  You  asked  him  ?  " 

"  I  urged ;  I  insisted.  I  never  trifle ;  I  never 
temporize.  I  always  take  the  simplest,  straightest 
way." 

"  It  has  misled  you.  She  is  not  a  serving-maid 
here." 

"  One  deceit  the  more  !  She  is  a  guest,  then,  on 
an  equality  with  the  others  ?  " 

Von  Kaltenau  hesitated.  "  No,"  he  felt  con 
strained  to  answer. 

"  Still  another  deceit !  A  web  of  deceit,  and  I 
am  entangled  in  its  meshes.  Pretense,  subterfuge, 
tricky  uncertainties  of  every  kind  !  Even  you, 
whom  I  was  beginning  to  like  and  to  trust,  seem 


APPLES  OF  DISCORD  191 

in  some  dark  conspiracy  against  me.  I  will  go ;  I 
will  not  remain  another  hour.  I  care  nothing  for 
this  deceptive  place  and  its  dubious  gayeties.  I 
will  go  this  moment,  and  I  will  not  be  followed  !  " 

She  rose  and  glided  indignantly  across  the  ter 
race,  an  incensed  young  goddess  too  single-minded 
for  concealment,  too  single-souled  for  compromise. 
Her  bosom  rose  and  fell,  her  sweet  lips  quivered, 
and  tears  compounded  of  anger  and  uncertainty 
and  self-pity  started  in  her  dark  eyes. 

Theodor  followed  after  her  and  caught  her  hand. 
"  You  are  not  to  go,''  he  said. 

She  paused.  Though  there  was  a  tremor  in  his 
hand,  his  hold  was  firm ;  while  light  and  gentle 
enough,  it  showed  no  sign  of  relaxing.  There  was 
a  tremor,  too,  in  his  voice,  but  its  tones  were  very 
grave  and  quiet.  Violante  checked  her  course ;  he 
had  impressed  her.  She  would  have  broken  away 
from  the  clamorous  impetuosity  of  Bruno,  but  the 
repression  and  self-mastery  of  this  mature  man 
established,  in  a  way,  his  mastery  over  her  as 
well. 

"  You  are  not  to  go/'  he  repeated.  "  You  have 
deceived  yourself,  or  you  have  been  deceived ;  in 
any  event  you  are  in  error.  You  need  the  guid 
ance  of  older  heads,  and  you  must  accept  it.  You 
must  trust  for  a  little  ;  you  must  trust  me.  What 
ever  you  may  wish  to  know,  you  will  learn  to-night 
or  to-morrow.  Meanwhile,  you  must  stay.  Do 
you  think  that  you  can  be  allowed  to  leave  us  ? 
If  you  withdraw  Belriguardo  stands  without  fur- 


192  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

ther  reason  for  existence,  and  the  future  will  be 
but  a  blank  echoing  hollowly,  fruitlessly  with  the 
ghostly  sounds  of  things  that  might  have  been. 
You  are  to  stay,  and  to  fill  the  part  that  of  right 
is  yours  to  fill,  the  part  that  nature  herself  de 
signed  you  for :  to  be  the  queen  of  every  revel,  the 
centre  of  every  festivity,  the  ruler  of  every  heart. 
You  promise?" 

Donna  Violante  looked  at  him  with  eyes  as 
grave  and  steady  as  his  own.  "  I  promise,"  she 
said. 

He  stooped  to  kiss  the  hand  upon  which  he  had 
never  relaxed  his  hold.  There  was  still  more  that 
might  be  said  and  done,  but  he  himself  was  to 
blame  for  the  imbroglio  that  had  brought  about 
this  opportunity,  and  must  not  push  the  occasion 
too  far.  He  set  his  kiss  there  and  went  away. 

Bruno,  returning,  saw  this  act  of  homage,  but 
overlooked,  of  course,  the  scruple  that  had  put  a 
bar  to  further  colloquy.  His  eyes  glowed  at  once 
with  passionate  love  and  anger.  He  caught  at  the 
hand  that  Theodor  had  just  relinquished,  and 
darted  a  sternly  indignant  glance  after  his  retreat 
ing  friend. 

"  You  are  for  me  !  "  he  said  hotly,  to  the  girl,  in 
a  voice  of  repressed  rage  and  longing.  "  You  are 
for  me,  despite  the  wiles  of  treacherous  friends. 
And  I  am  for  you,  all  that  I  am  and  have,"  — 
here  his  hand  swept  over  Belriguardo's  fair  do 
main,  —  "  and  hope  to  have.  Take  me,  and  let 
there  be  an  end." 


APPLES   OF  DISCORD  193 

Violante  considered  him  steadily  for  a  moment. 
His  tone  and  his  manner  were  alike  violent ;  but 
the  surface  excitement  of  the  ocean  is  little  when 
compared  with  the  vast  nether  movement  that 
sways  the  flood  as  an  immense  unit,  yet  leaves 
the  surface  itself  scarce  ruffled.  And  his  way  was 
too  assured  —  rather  the  assurance  of  youthful  con 
fidence,  it  seemed,  than  the  assurance  that  comes 
from  a  consciousness  of  self -poise  and  self-control. 
He  seemed  very  young.  And  that  anomalous  little 
Lucetta  was  hardly  out  of  sight  round  the  corner. 

"  Speak  to  me,"  he  said ;  "  I  love  you.  Fulfil 
your  destiny  —  be  mine  !  " 

Donna  Yiolante  had  recovered  her  composure, 
and  now  looked  about  slowly,  in  more  directions 
than  one  —  in  that,  among  others,  which  Theodor 
von  Kaltenau  had  taken  upon  retiring.  Bruno's 
eager  eyes  were  fastened  on  her  face.  She  with 
drew  her  hand  from  his  and  took  a  step  or  two 
away. 

"  That  requires  consideration,"  she  said,  in  un 
conscious  repetition  of  Bruno's  own  words. 

X 

The  middle  of  the  afternoon  found  the  entire 
company  disposed  in  scattered  groups  over  the 
wide  expanse  of  Belriguardo's  gray-flagged  ter 
race.  The  preparations  for  the  evening's  fete 
were  complete.  Dottore  Balanzoni  had  finally 
decided  upon  Empedocles.  Madama  Sophonisba 


194  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

had  contrived,  from  the  contents  of  her  many  cof 
fers,  a  costume  magnificently  barbaric  enough  for 
any  Carthaginian  princess.  Her  young  men  had 
devised  simple  dresses  based  on  the  Greek  tunic, 
and  helped  out  by  wreaths  and  sandals.  A  general 
truce  prevailed.  Donna  Violante  ignored  Lucetta, 
and  kept  Bruno  at  arm's  length.  Von  Kaltenau 
and  Capoameno,  busy  with  some  practical  details 
of  one  kind  or  another,  overlooked,  for  the  mo 
ment,  any  tension  that  might  exist. 

All  at  once  the  rumble  of  wheels  and  the  clatter 
of  hoofs  were  heard  in  the  distance.  The  sound 
grew  to  a  crescendo  and  suddenly  ceased  at  Belri- 
guardo's  gate. 

The  one  passenger  in  the  coach  alighted  and 
was  admitted.  He  advanced  along  the  terrace  — 
a  dark  man  of  thirty,  of  no  more  than  medium 
height,  with  broad,  square  shoulders  and  a  dense 
black  moustache,  with  a  like  tuft  just  below  his  lip. 
It  was  Prince  Giacinto  Malevento. 

Malevento  made  a  rapid  survey  that  took  in 
everybody,  yet  ignored  all  save  Bruno  and  Vio 
lante,  —  to  the  latter  of  whom  he  gave  a  marked 
but  distant  bow,  —  and  walked  straight  toward 
Filippo,  smiling  and  extending  his  hand  with  the 
overdone  cordiality  of  a  mere  acquaintance  who 
means  to  ask  for  hospitality. 

"  My  dear  Marchese !  "  he  exclaimed,  in  a  high, 
clear  voice.  Everybody  heard  him. 

"You  know  this  man?"  whispered  the  Freiherr 
in  Filippo's  ear. 


APPLES  OF  DISCORD  195 

"  I  know  him  slightly ;  I  know  him  as  I  know 
hundreds  of  others,"  whispered  Capoarneno  in  re 
turn. 

Malevento  glanced  about  with  an  air  of  lordly 
self-possession.  "  "Welcome  me  to  Belriguardo," 
he  went  on,  addressing  the  Marchese.  "  Rumors 
of  your  fete  have  reached  the  outer  world,  my  dear 
Capoameno,  —  very  curious  and  puzzling  rumors, 
to  tell  the  truth ;  and  the  slightest  encouragement 
would  induce  me  to  participate !  " 

Violante  stared  in  astonishment.  Bruno,  at 
whom  the  Prince  was  now  beginning  to  look  with 
a  singular,  questioning  expression,  contracted  his 
brows  in  an  angry,  jealous  frown  and  made  a  quick 
stride  forward. 

Filippo  still  refrained  from  taking  Malevento's 
hand  and  tried  to  becloud  the  look  of  recognition 
that  he  had  allowed  to  dawn  upon  his  face.  The 
overwhelming  mortification  awaiting  young  Bruno 
was  greater  than  he  had  heart  to  help  bring  about. 

"  Surely  you  remember  me,"  said  the  Prince. 
"I  am  Giacinto  Malevento.  We  have  met  at 
Naples,  at  Castellammare,  at  "  — 

"  Giacinto  Malevento  ?  " 

"Yes;  and  you,  as  surely,  are  Filippo  Capo 
ameno,  master  of  Belriguardo  "  — 

"  Master  of  Belriguardo  !  "  gasped  Bruno. 

—  "  and  I  have  to  acknowledge  your  kindness  in 
giving  asylum  to  a  lady  whom  I  have  sought  every 
where  for  a  week  or  more."  Malevento  glanced 
toward  Violante. 


196  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"But  this  is  certainly  an  error,"  said  Capo- 
ameno,  "I"  — 

"Assuredly  so,"  said  Bruno,  haughtily.  "An 
unpardonable  one ! " 

—  "I  very  much  regret,"  pursued  Filippo, "  that  a 
misunderstanding  should  have  led  you  to  —  to  "  — 

Malevento  stared  at  the  Marchese  with  an  air 
at  once  puzzled  and  offended.  The  Marchesina 
pushed  forward  and  caught  Filippo  by  the  arm. 

"  Filippo !  "  she  cried,  "  what  do  you  mean  ? 
My  dear  brother  "  — 

"  His  sister  ! "  gasped  Violante. 

—  "  my  dear  brother,  how  much  longer  shall  you 
keep  up  this  mad  perversity?     Of  course  "  —  and 
she  turned  toward  the  perplexed  company  —  "  you 
are  the  Marchese  Filippo  Capoameno,  and  equally, 
of  course,  the  master,  the  one  and  only  master,  of 
Belriguardo  !  "     Lucetta  paused  panting  and  shot 
such  a  glance  at  Bruno  as  gave  ample  revenge  for 
the  embarrassments  and  humiliations  of  the  past 
fortnight. 

"Yes,"  he   said,   smiling  feebly,   and   at    last 

taking  hold  of  Malevento's  waiting  hand ;  "  yes, 

I  am   Filippo   Capoameno.  Welcome  to   Belri 
guardo." 


XI 

Bruno's  guests  looked  at  him  and  at  one  another 
in  blank  amaze.  They  felt  the  ground  shifting 
beneath  their  feet.  The  common  tie  that  bound 


APPLES   OF  DISCORD  197 

them  all  together  was  relaxed.  The  Palace  of 
Pleasure  crumbled  in  an  instant. 

Donna  Violante  advanced  toward  Bruno  with  an 
air  of  boundless  scorn.  Monna  Clotilde  followed 
close  after  her  and  looked  over  her  shoulder  like  a 
bird  of  ill-omen  —  a  bird  about  to  utter  a  croaking 
note  long  meditated. 

"  This,  then,  is  your  love ! "  said  Violante  to 
Bruno.  "  You  have  tricked  me ;  you  have  insulted 
me.  You  have  humiliated  me  ;  you  have  made  me 
ridiculous.  You  have  set  fraud  beneath  my  feet 
and  woven  the  web  of  deception  round  my  head. 
I  have  never  once  placed  foot  here  upon  honest 
ground,  never  once  been  allowed  to  see  things  as 
they  really  were.  You  offer  me  everything,  when 
what  you  have  to  offer  is  nothing.  You  offer  me 
yourself,  after  having  insolently  offered  yourself  to 
another  under  my  very  eyes.  "We  part  here  and 
now.  I  have  no  respect  for  you  ;  you  should  have 
no  respect  for  yourself.  This  is  the  end." 

Bruno  looked  at  her  as  from  a  cloud,  a  cloud 
full  of  eyes  —  the  eyes  of  those  exacting  and  in 
quiring  persons  who  had  clamored  for  life  to  come 
close  to  them  with  all  its  passions  and  surprises. 
"  This  house  is  mine,"  was  all  he  could  say. 

"  This  house  is  mine,"  said  Filippo,  gently. 
"  No  one  could  be  sorrier  than  I,  and  no  one  more 
to  blame." 

"The  house  is  nothing,"  exclaimed  Violante. 
"  A  hundred  houses  would  be  nothing.  A  hut 
would  have  been  enough,  if  more,  much  more,  had 


198  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

not  been  promised  —  and  promised  all  unasked. 
But  the  deceit  I  never  can  forgive,  nor  the  morti 
fication."  She  turned  toward  Filippo.  "  Let  me 
beg  a  thousand  pardons  for  such  inconsiderate 
treatment  of  so  gallant  a  gentleman,  so  kindly  a 
host"  — 

Malevento  began  to  get  a  stronger  grip  on  the 
situation  —  a  grip  somewhat  weakened  by  Filippo's 
generous  denial.  He  smiled  satirically  to  see 
Bruno  de'  Brunelli  at  so  cruel  a  disadvantage  —  a 
disadvantage  that  could  not  but  advance  his  own 
plans. 

He  stepped  over  toward  Violante.  She  shut 
him  out  from  her  as  summarily  as  she  had  already 
shut  out  his  rival. 

"  No,"  she  said,  and  said  no  more.  Her  head 
drooped  slightly  to  one  side,  and  the  young  ro 
mancer  who  stood  close  by,  and  whom  the  Freiherr 
remembered  as  having  apostrophized  the  multitu 
dinous  waves  of  the  ocean  of  life,  held  unconsciously 
to  his  earlier  practice,  and  drew  away :  not  yet  was 
he  ready  to  surrender  his  toes  to  the  wash  of  the 
sea.  So  Donna  Violante  let  her  hand  be  gathered 
up  in  the  advancing  hand  of  Monna  Clotilde  and 
let  her  head  fall  toward  Clotilde's  shoulder. 

"  No,"  repeated  Clotilde,  cutting  off  the  two 
young  men  from  all  hope  and  mercy,  but  saving 
the  full  venom  of  her  eyes  for  Malevento.  "  Look 
your  last  upon  her,  both  of  you,"  she  cried  in  a 
tone  of  strident  triumph,  "  for  you  shall  never  see 
her  more !  " 


APPLES  OF  DISCORD  199 

She  led  Violante  away.  The  girl  went  passively, 
with  her  eyes  on  the  ground  and  a  deadly  mortifi 
cation  gnawing  at  her  heart. 


XII 

The  exit  of  Violante  produced  a  deep  and  diver 
sified  impression.  The  little  knot  of  pilgrims 
looked  at  one  another  in  great  embarrassment  and 
uncertainty.  "  Are  we  welcome  guests  ? "  they 
seemed  to  be  asking,  "  or  are  we  unwelcome  intru 
ders  ?  And  if  guests  in  good  standing,  who  is  our 
host  ?  And  may  we  remain  here  yet  a  little  longer, 
or  must  we  leave  at  once  this  palace  of  delights  ?  " 
Dottore  Balanzoni  relapsed  into  the  dense  dejection 
from  which  the  pleasures  of  the  past  fortnight  had 
almost  rescued  him.  Mam'zelle  Hedwig  drooped 
before  the  blighting  idea  that  these  few  precious 
days  of  gallantry  and  courtesy  were  already  of 
the  past.  Madama  Sophonisba's  countenance  was 
darkly  overclouded  at  the  thought  that  one  of  the 
choicest  episodes  in  her  life  had  come  to  a  sudden 
and  equivocal  close. 

But  the  artists  in  her  train  were  in  high  feather. 
The  occasion  offered  them  more  than  observation  — 
it  offered  participation.  They  were  in  the  drama 
and  almost  of  it.  The  painter,  wondering  upon 
whom  the  gathering  rage  of  Bruno  was  about  to 
fall,  felt  that  he  was  getting  into  things  at  last. 
The  fictionist,  viewing  the  deep  distress  and  con 
trition  of  von  Kaltenau,  inwardly  determined  that 


200  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

lie  would  not  shirk  active  participation  a  second 
time  —  let  the  flood  come,  if  it  would.  They  both 
looked  after  Violante,  and  then  they  both  brought 
their  eyes  back  to  Bruno. 

Bruno  stood  there  in  arrest  —  like  a  young  bull 
who  escapes  from  his  long  dark  confinement  to 
face  his  antagonists  in  the  arena.  The  flood  of 
light  poured  in  upon  him  had  dazed  him,  and  he 
raised  and  lowered  his  head  as  if  to  distinguish 
and  to  attack  some  one  particular  opponent.  He 
might  have  chanced  upon  Filippo,  whose  fantastic 
folly  had  brought  them  all  into  this  dire  imbroglio, 
or  upon  Malevento,  whose  abrupt  disclosures  had 
shattered  in  a  moment  the  entire  fabric  of  his 
dream.  But  the  first  face  that  issued  clear  before 
him  from  the  intolerable  glaring  mist  that  en 
wrapped  all  was  the  distressed  and  solicitous  face 
of  Theodor  von  Kaltenau. 

"  I  am  indebted  to  you  for  this,"  said  Bruno,  in 
a  voice  half  inarticulate  from  mortification  and 
rage.  "  I  trusted  you  as  a  friend,  and  my  trust 
has  brought  me  —  here.  You  misled  me  ;  you 
deceived  me.  You  have  placed  me  in  a  fool's 
paradise  where  all  might  mock  at  me ;  you  have 
stolen  from  me  my  self-respect  and  you  would  have 
taken  advantage  of  my  utter  trust  in  you  to  steal 
something  dearer  far  than  all  "  — 

"  No,  no  ! "  cried  the  Freiherr,  in  earnest  pro 
test. 

"  You  have  allowed  me  to  insult  our  common 
host"  — 


APPLES  OF  DISCORD  201 

"  Pray  let  that  pass,"  cried  Filippo,  quickly. 
"The  fault  is  mine." 

—  "  and  to  —  to  "  —  Bruno  looked  toward  Lu- 
cetta  with  a  flush,  and  found  no  words  to  voice  his 
penitence. 

"  Let  that  pass,  too,"  cried  Lucetta,  brightly. 
"  I  deserved  the  punishment." 

"  My  dream  is  over,"  pursued  Bruno.  "  I  shall 
go  back  to  my  northern  home,  chastised  for  my 
hopes  and  my  presumption  "  — 

"  No,  no  !  "  exclaimed  the  Freiherr  again.  "  If 
there  is  one  loss,  there  will  be  a  dozen  gains.  Let 
Belriguardo  go  —  'tis  but  a  makeshift,  a  stop-gap; 
't  is  but  the  skiff  you  have  taken  to  board  a  great 
steamer  for  a  long  and  prosperous  voyage  —  left 
when  no  longer  needed,  and  "  — 

"  Not  a  word  more  !  "  said  Bruno.  "  I  will  not 
listen  to  you.  In  your  selfishness  you  have  dis 
graced  and  degraded  me  before  the  one  being  that 
I"  — 

He  paused  to  throw  a  look  of  utter  detestation 
upon  Giacinto  Malevento  and  then  reeled  away, 
thrusting  back  a  stiffened  arm  that  forbade  all 
companionship  and  all  pursuit. 

XIII 

Violante  had  upbraided  Bruno,  Bruno  had  struck 
at  Theodor,  and  now  Theodor,  intent  upon  passing 
along  the  buffet,  looked  about  for  some  deserving 
cheek.  He  could  not  tax  Malevento,  who  appar- 


202  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

ently  had  not  had  the  fullest  idea  of  the  effect  that 
his  recognition  of  Filippo  was  to  produce,  and  who 
had  controlled  a  bitter  tongue  that  might  have 
said  many  taunting  things.  Filippo  himself  was 
to  blame,  —  Filippo,  the  ultimate  fountain-head  of 
all  these  woes.  But  poor  Filippo,  already  in  the 
depths  of  contrition,  was  too  pitiful  an  object  to 
be  made  to  serve  as  general  scapegoat.  "  Besides," 
thought  the  Freiherr,  "  I  myself  am  to  blame  in 
part.  My  own  determination  to  enjoy,  my  own 
eagerness  to  enjoy  at  once,  my  own  unwillingness 
to  endure  the  least  delay  in  that  poor  boy's  as 
sumption  of  his  office  of  interpreter  —  these,  in 
the  end,  have  to  answer  for  all." 

And  the  end  was  come.  Bruno  abashed,  abased, 
broken  in  spirit,  ruined,  perhaps,  in  timbre  ;  use 
less  as  a  riven  lute,  as  an  unstrung  harp.  Vio- 
lante  incensed,  cruelly  mortified,  in  a  position  now 
odiously  irregular,  and  upon  the  point  of  a  hurried, 
goalless  flight.  His  own  plans  wrecked,  his  own 
hopes  dashed,  his  future  days  already  under  the 
gray  shadow  of  the  demon  who  rules  the  hapless 
middle  years.  The  palace  of  Klingsor  had  crum 
bled  ;  the  enchanted  gardens  had  withered  in  an 
instant. 

The  little  knot  of  pilgrims  looked  about  them 
dubiously,  reproachfully,  asking  upon  whom  they 
might  cast  the  blame  for  this  last  and  greatest  dis 
appointment  in  lives  too  full  of  disappointment 
already.  Another  mirage  had  faded ;  the  fata 
Morgana  had  deceived  them  once  again.  The 


APPLES  OF  DISCORD  203 

Palace  of  Pleasure  had  dissipated  into  thin  air; 
the  Last  Refuge  was  as  far  away  as  ever.  The 
dumb  poet  now  seemed  double-locked  in  silence ; 
the  Dutch  jurist  leaned  upon  the  balustrade  in  a 
very  abandonment  to  despair. 

Yon  Kaltenau,  in  fullest  need  of  some  friendly 
prop,  crossed  over  to  Balanzoni  and  placed  a  hand 
upon  his  shoulder. 

"  That  city  —  the  city  you  told  me  of  in  Rome," 
he  said :  "  I  may  wish  to  journey  thither  with 

you." 


PART  VI.  —  MANOEUVRINGS 


BELRIGUARDO'S  historical  pageant  was  carried 
through  with  such  maimed  rites  as  could  not  but 
follow  on  a  sudden  change  of  host  and  the  defec 
tion  of  the  chief  guests.  There  was  no  Acis,  no 
Galatea.  Polyphemus  —  a  new  one  —  had  come 
rushing  down  upon  them  from  his  stronghold  and 
wrecked  their  loves.  Violante,  accompanied  by 
Monna  Clotilde,  had  fled  away  forthwith,  disdain 
ing  to  hear  a  word  of  justification  from  Bruno  and 
refusing  to  take  the  least  avail  of  the  friendly 
offices  of  Theodor  von  Kaltenau.  She  could  for 
give  Bruno  for  Belriguardo,  but  not  for  Lucetta. 
In  the  one  case  he  may  have  been  a  victim ;  but 
in  the  other  case  he  was  surely  an  offender.  One 
house,  more  or  less,  made  little  difference ;  but  one 
woman,  more  or  less,  made  all  the  difference  in  the 
world.  She  could  overlook,  even  pity,  the  lack  of 
perception  that  had  led  the  young  man  so  easily 
into  the  quagmire  of  error,  but  she  could  not  par 
don  the  double  dealings  that  had  marked  his  rela 
tions  with  the  Marchesina. 

As  for  Bruno  himself,  his  one  idea  was  to  hide 
his  humbled  head  from  mortal  view.  He  could 


MANCEUVRINGS  205 

not  face  Capoameno,  notwithstanding  the  kindly 
jocularity  with  which  the  Marchese  tried  to  carry 
things  off;  he  could  not  pluck  up  the  spirit  to 
meet  the  cynical,  satirical  smile  of  Giacinto  Male- 
vento  ;  he  could  not  trust  himself  to  any  further 
parley  with  von  Kaltenau,  whom  he  looked  upon 
as  a  traitor  doubly  damned  —  a  trusted  friend 
who  had  led  him  into  a  fraudulent  palace  of  en 
chantment  and  then  had  employed  its  dazzling 
fascinations  to  rob  him  of  his  love.  He,  too,  left 
within  the  hour,  and  went  none  knew  whither. 

Filippo,  then,  appeared  as  host,  in  proper  per 
son,  and  his  aunt,  who  had  played  the  part  of 
housekeeper,  resumed  her  native  quality  and  re 
ceived  his  guests.  They  came  in  numbers,  their 
curiosity  piqued  by  the  promise  of  a  particularly 
unique  entertainment.  Young  Cervel-Balzano,  who 
had  figured  in  the  cavalcade  as  a  postillion,  pre 
sented  himself  with  three  or  four  others  of  his 
kind,  and  their  quizzical  humor  contributed  still 
further  to  the  discomfiture  of  the  remaining  pil 
grims.  The  situation  had  its  restraints,  its  diffi 
culties,  and  though  the  Marchese  had  urged  his 
guests  to  let  the  sudden  change  in  host  make  no 
difference  in  their  plans,  most  of  them  declined  his 
invitation  to  abide  longer  and  left  on  the  following 
day.  They  all  felt  the  flaw  in  their  beautiful  ideal, 
the  wrench  to  their  collective  hopes  and  aspira 
tions  ;  the  Last  Refuge  surely  lay  elsewhere. 

To  some  of  them,  as  to  Dottore  Balanzoni,  the 
palace  of  pleasure  was  a  ruin  —  one  more  ruin  in 


206  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

a  land  of  ruins.  Youth,  love,  hope,  joy  —  all  these 
had  receded  like  a  half-revealed  mirage.  Nothing 
was  left  but  recollection ;  nothing  was  to  do  but  to 
brood  over  what  might  have  been.  In  this  mood 
the  travellers  dispersed  over  the  island,  in  search 
of  —  they  scarce  knew  what.  Their  thoughts 
turned  to  other  ruins :  to  Segesta,  desolate  on 
its  high  hilltop ;  to  the  sandy  promontory  of  Seli- 
nunto,  within  the  mass  of  whose  dishevelled  colon 
nades  the  Arabs  made  a  last  stand  against  the 
conquering  Normans;  to  Girgenti,  girdled  with 
temples  on  its  upper  and  lower  rims  alike;  to 
Syracuse,  where  the  vast  limestone  plateau  that 
overlooks  Ortygia  is  strewn  with  f ragmental  tokens 
of  glories  past ;  to  Taormina,  which  looks  out  from 
the  midst  of  ruins  —  Greek,  Roman,  Saracenic, 
Norman-Gothic  —  across  toward  the  blue  Cala- 
brian  mountains  dim  in  the  east.  "  A  world  in 
itself,  all  this  !  "  exclaimed  Mam'zelle  Hedwig  to 
von  Kaltenau,  vivaciously.  And  she  gave  him  an 
appealing  glance,  as  if  to  ask  whether  a  poor  lone 
woman  who  knew  but  little  of  the  native  tongue 
and  still  less  of  the  native  ways  was  to  venture 
into  all  these  distant  tracts  alone. 


II 

Thus  it  happened  that  while  Montegrifone  — 
secure  at  last  in  his  title  —  was  dividing  a  hot 
attention  between  an  installation  in  his  new  estates 
and  an  interception  of  Malevento's  advances  on 


MANCEUVRINGS  207 

Donna  Violante,  to  von  Kaltenau  fell  the  milder 
employment  of  escorting  Mam'zelle  Hedwig 
through  a  succession  of  the  Sicilian  towns.  Yes, 
Mam'zelle  had  her  uses ;  she  held  despair  at  bay 
and  rescued  her  vacillating  friend  from  the  sombre 
offices  of  the  despondent  Balanzoni. 

Theodor  von  Kaltenau  had  an  honest  liking  for 
Mam'zelle  and  her  peculiarities.  If  Donna  Vio 
lante  reminded  him  of  the  dusky  and  ambiguous 
and  exotic  splendors  of  a  Cappella  Palatina,  then 
Mam'zelle  Hedwig  brought  into  view  the  gro 
tesque  yet  familiar  homeliness  of  a  late-Gothic 
chapel  in  a  back  street  of  some  small  German  pro 
vincial  town.  The  one  was  strange  and  magnifi 
cent  and  fascinating ;  the  other  was  of  the  racial 
blood,  and  made  no  acute  address  because  it  made 
a  constant  one.  Von  Kaltenau  had  strained  his 
eyes  over  Donna  Violante  just  as  one  may  strain 
his  eyes  in  the  heavy  dusk  that  enwraps  the  an 
tique  columns  and  pointed  arches  that  bear  up 
King  Roger's  wondrous  dome.  Full  illumination 
had  never  quite  come,  not  even  when  the  wor 
shipful  hand  of  another  had  lit  up  the  tapers  in 
the  towering  marble  candelabra  and  had  called 
upon  the  sheeted  spread  of  gold-mosaic  to  issue 
glitteringly  from  the  enshrouding  gloom.  The 
Teutonic  imaginings  of  the  northern  architect,  on 
the  other  hand,  gave  him  no  trouble  whatever  ;  he 
could  even  shut  his  eyes  and  yet  see  the  naive 
heraldic  bearings  that  sprawled  over  the  painted 
panes,  the  graceless  stub-tail  traceries,  the  gro- 


208  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

tesque  fancies  carved  in  maladroit  fashion  upon 
the  receding  arches  of  the  weather-beaten  porch. 
Mam'zelle,  in  short,  was  homely,  but  easily  intelli 
gible  on  the  ground  of  mere  racial  affinity. 

They  met,  furthermore,  upon  a  common  ground 
still  broader :  the  singular  northern  longing  for 
the  South.  Two  pines  had  uprooted  themselves 
from  the  cold  northland  heights  to  take  their 
poise  upon  the  "  brennende  Felsenwand  "  of  which 
the  poet  sings,  and  if  their  tips  tended* a  little  now 
and  then  each  toward  the  other  no  one  need  won 
der.  Perhaps  Mam'zelle  leaned  a  little  the  more 
of  the  two  ;  she  was  not  only  a  Teuton,  but  an  ad 
miring  and  a  grateful  Teuton.  To  her  the  Freiherr 
was  a  gracious  being,  of  chivalry  all  compact ;  she 
could  not  withhold  her  highest  esteem  from  a  man 
who  had  done  so  much  —  and  done  it  so  quietly, 
withal  —  to  rehabilitate  her  in  her  own  eyes. 
Mam'zelle  had  always  been  the  lame  duck  of  her 
own  domestic  brood ;  her  years  at  home  were 
a  moving  chronicle  of  snubs  and  repressions  suf 
fered  from  overbearing  relatives.  The  Freiherr's 
earliest  attentions  had  filled  her  with  wondering 
surprise,  then  with  an  overflowing  gratitude  ;  and 
she  was  now  rapidly  reaching  the  point  where  she 
could  feel  herself  fully  grounded  upon  the  rock  of 
self-esteem  at  last.  His  courtesies  —  almost  the 
first  she  had  ever  encountered  —  confirmed  her 
wavering  impression  of  her  own  worth,  and  were 
already  prompting  her  to  take  the  initiative  on  her 
own  account.  Mam'zelle  —  well  might  Theodor 


MANCEUVRIXGS  209 

von  Kaltenau  have  anticipated  her  evolution  !  — 
began  to  become  a  little  arch,  a  little  coquettish,  a 
little  exacting,  a  little  imperious  .  .  . 

An  unfortunate  incident  that  occurred  at  Se- 
gesta  strengthened  Mam'zelle's  position,  and  al 
most  confirmed  her  dominance.  It  was  here  that 
the  Freiherr  saved  her  life.  This  was  her  own 
contention  ;  his  was  that  he  had  merely  saved  her 
purse.  But  Mam'zelle's  impassioned  outpouring 
of  thanks  caused  her  opinion  to  prevail. 

He  had  left  her  seated  in  the  theatre,  while  he 
himself  descended  to  the  temple  in  search  of  some 
of  her  small  belongings  that  she  had  heedlessly 
left  behind.  He  returned  to  find  her  threatened, 
with  a  sort  of  feeble  ferocity,  by  a  poor  ragged  fel 
low  who  was  physically  and  morally  the  victim  of 
Sicily's  deplorable  social  and  economical  condi 
tions.  Mam'zelle  defended  her  pocket  valiantly  ; 
no  attack  on  the  national  treasury  could  have 
evoked  a  more  heroic  spirit  of  resistance.  She 
felt  the  corner-stone  of  her  exchequer  assailed, 
and  saw  the  entire  fabric  of  her  Sicilian  journey 
crashing  down  into  ruin.  She  had  the  vision  of  a 
precipitate  return  to  the  distasteful  parental  roof, 
and  of  the  one  expansive  opportunity  of  a  lifetime 
brought  to  nothing.  All  this  nerved  her  against 
the  fierce  sallow  face  and  the  clutching  fingers  of 
the  poor  creature  whom  his  own  crying  needs  and 
the  loneliness  of  the  spot  had  impelled  to  a  read 
justment  (so  far  as  he  himself  was  concerned)  of 
the  general  social  scheme.  But  Mam'zelle  had  no 


210  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

thought  of  surrender  or  of  compromise.  To  her  a 
penny  was  a  pound,  and  a  pound  was  a  fortune. 
She  tugged  and  screamed,  and  bravely  held  her 
own.  She  gripped  her  shabby  little  purse,  and  in 
her  stress  of  action  was  but  dimly  conscious  of  the 
possible  stiletto  that,  under  circumstances  less 
strenuous,  would  have  shone  before  her  with  such 
steely  clearness  as  to  paralyze  action  altogether. 

The  Freiherr,  returning,  saw  her  straits,  and 
came  running  to  her  rescue.  He  caught  at  a  knife 
that  was  just  coming  forth  clumsily  from  some 
pocket  or  other  of  ragged  Robin's  shredded  ap 
parel,  and  firmly  sent  the  fellow  about  his  busi 
ness.  His  own  lack  of  temper  and  of  violence  was 
quite  impressive  to  his  charge,  who  coughed  and 
choked  a  little  to  free  her  throat  from  the  sense 
of  her  assailant's  fingers,  and  looked  at  her  bruised 
wrists  and  forearms  in  comfortable  confirmation 
of  a  great  danger  escaped,  and  gave  a  second's 
admiring  consideration  to  Theodor's  mastery  over 
circumstances  and  over  himself,  and  then  panted 
a  little  and  modestly  swayed  his  way  and  closed 
her  brown  button-like  eyes  and  let  her  head  fall 
on  his  shoulder. 

"  You  have  saved  my  life ;  you  have  saved  my 
life ! "  murmured  Mam'zelle,  and  would  take  no 
denial. 

Ill 

From  that  moment  Mam'zelle  Hedwig  was  a 
person  of  vastly  greater  importance  in  her  own 


MANCEUVRINGS  211 

eyes.  A  preux  chevalier  had  found  her  life  worth 
saving;  far  be  it  from  her,  then,  to  underesti 
mate  that  life's  value.  More,  when  a  man  saves 
the  life  of  a  woman  whose  company  he  has  de 
liberately  chosen  almost  anything  may  follow  — 
her  future  is  in  his  keeping.  It  was  now  that 
Mam'zelle  began  to  ply  her  arch  imperiousness, 
and  to  tax  the  Freiherr  with  imaginary  slights  and 
neglects,  and  to  ask  him,  in  moments  when  his 
attention  seemed  not  fully  alert  to  her  addresses, 
where  his  thoughts  were  wandering,  and  to  create 
imaginary  beings  upon  whom  the  responsibility 
for  his  indifference  might  be  cast.  For  Mam'zelle 
was  another  of  those  who  had  been  denied  the 
blessing  of  taking  up  the  component  parts  of  life 
in  regular  order ;  and  there  were  moments  when 
her  courses  seemed  to  be  bringing  them  both 
within  the  lines  of  an  affair  than  which  none 
could  be  more  awkward,  more  maladroit :  such  an 
affair,  in  short,  as  threatened  to  carry  back  two 
mature  persons,  by  a  sort  of  amatory  undertow,  to 
flounder  gracelessly  enough,  before  countless  eyes 
only  too  avid  of  entertainment,  among  the  shim 
mering  shallows  of  young  love's  shore. 

"  Intolerable !  "  thought  the  Freiherr,  with  a 
shudder. 

He  continued  to  be  the  victim  of  the  intermit 
tent  brown  study,  —  an  obsession  for  which  his 
companion  now  openly  ventured  to  hint  a  reason 
more  specific  than  any  yet  entertained,  or  at  least 
mentioned.  They  were  now  at  the  far  west  of  the 


212  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

island,  and  their  ascent  from  Trapani  to  Eryx  on 
donkey-back,  with  the  constant  shiftings  of  posi 
tion  incident  to  such  a  mode  of  locomotion,  gave 
her  good  opportunity  for  her  abundant  intimations 
and  insinuations. 

Slowly  they  swung  and  jolted  up  to  the  ancient 
shrine  of  many  gods  and  many  nations,  and  the 
Freiherr  would  willingly  have  given  a  faithful 
meed  of  attention  to  the  abounding  memories  of 
other  days :  to  Hercules  and  uiEneas,  rival  foun 
ders  ;  to  Baal  and  to  Astarte,  to  Jupiter  and  Venus 
Erycina;  to  Hamilcar  and  to  the  destruction  of 
Carthage's  fleet  in  the  waters  below  them  —  a  vic 
tory  that  closed  the  first  Punic  War ;  and  to  the 
widening  panorama  of  mountainous  island  and 
rocky  headland  and  ever-extending  coast-line  and 
ever-lifting  horizon  that  grew  with  their  ascent. 
But  Mam'zelle  had  other  thoughts,  and  unscrupu 
lously  let  drop  the  curtain  of  mere  personal  in 
terest  between  him  and  a  view  so  illuminated  by 
beauty  and  so  charged  with  history. 

"  Ah,  the  present  moment !  "  began  Mam'zelle, 
in  a  fine  generalization  that  was  soon  discovered  to 
be  less  comprehensive  than  it  sounded.  "  It  is  the 
only  thing  that  counts  —  the  only  thing  we  are 
sure  of.  The  past  is  past.  Its  hopes,  its  pleasures, 
its  disappointments  —  let  us  forget  them,  let  us  not 
try  to  bring  them  back.  The  mirage  fades  ;  the 
last  cloud-shred  is  dissipated  "  —  and  more  in  the 
same  general  tenor. 

"  True,"  said  the   Freiherr,  quite   accustomed, 


MANCEUVRINGS  213 

by  this  time,  to  Mam'zelle's  little  flights  of  lyri 
cism. 

"  You  say, '  true,'  "  observed  Mam'zelle,  tugging 
at  her  donkey's  bridle ;  "  but  what  is  the  use  of 
perceiving  a  truth  if  one  does  not  act  upon  it  ?  " 

"  How  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  You  are  dwelling  on  the  past.  You  regret  it. 
You  would  like  to  relive  it." 

"  By  no  means.  I  can  think  of  scarcely  a  day 
in  my  life  that  I  should  care  to  relive.  I  have  had 
few  experiences  that  I  should  not  be  quite  willing 
to  forget."  The  Freiherr,  not  caring  to  exert  him 
self  to  any  great  degree,  fell  into  this  strain  almost 
automatically.  He  had  found  that  it  always  in 
terested  women  —  particularly  single  women  past 
their  first  youth. 

Mam'zelle  looked  at  him,  over  the  wagging  ears 
of  her  unkempt  little  beast,  as  if  about  to  request, 
point-blank,  his  complete  autobiography. 

"  Even  that  of  Belriguardo  ?  " 

"  Belriguardo  ?  Is  that  already  of  the  past,  and 
only  of  the  past  ?  Is  the  door  locked  ?  Is  the 
book  shut  ?  Is  the  scroll  rolled  up  and  forever 
laid  away  ? "  Thus  he  repaid  Mam'zelle  in  her 
own  poetic  coin. 

"  Is  it  of  the  present?"  she  asked  peremptorily. 

"So  much  might  be  declared.  Who  shall  say 
when  a  thing  is  over  ?  " 

Mam'zelle's  lips  tightened.  "  I  knew  it,"  she 
said. 

"Knew  what?" 


214  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  What  you  are  thinking  of.  What  you  are 
always  thinking  of.  What  has  not  been  out  of 
your  thoughts  for  an  hour  since  all  of  us  bade  Bel- 
riguardo  good-by." 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  demanded  von  Kaltenau,  with 
all  directness.  "  Come,  come ;  no  hesitation.  Tell 


IV 

"  Why,"  began  Mam'zelle,  stammeringly,  now 
that  she  found  herself  actually  in  the  breach,  "  you 
—  you  are  thinking  of  that  ungrateful  boy,  and 
are  taxing  yourself  with  offenses  not  justly  yours." 

"  Oh,  really,"  began  von  Kaltenau.  He  had 
indeed  been  thinking  over  his  relations  with 
Bruno,  but  the  more  he  thought  of  them  the  less 
was  he  inclined  to  give  himself  the  blame.  He  had 
in  truth  put  the  boy  at  a  poignant  disadvantage, 
but  only  a  temporary  one ;  while,  on  the  other 
hand,  he  had  done  substantial  service  toward  estab 
lishing  the  new  duke  in  the  niche  wherein  he  pro 
mised  to  pass  a  long  life  of  dignity  and  affluence. 
Bruno  himself  would  think  the  matter  over  and 
would  presently  come  to  a  like  conclusion.  As  he 
visited  some  newer  villa  or  familiarized  himself 
with  some  richer  estate  or  conferred  with  his  stew 
ards  and  attorneys  in  that  lofty  old  palace  at  the 
capital,  he  would  come  to  a  juster  idea  of  his 
friend's  services  and  be  more  willing  to  put  aside 
all  memory  of  that  last  mortifying  hour  at  Belri- 
guardo. 


MANCEUVRINGS  215 

"  I  shall  never  forget,"  said  Mam'zelle,  "  how  un 
graciously  he  flung  away  from  you ;  how  he  refused 
to  hear  one  word  of  regret  or  of  explanation  "  — 

"I  am  afraid  that  I  myself  gave  him  a  bad 
example  of  impulsiveness,"  said  von  Kaltenau. 
"I  was  too  eager  for  enjoyment;  less  for  his  en 
joyment  than  mine,  and  indeed  no  more  for  mine 
than  for  yours." 

Mam'zelle  stroked  her  donkey's  ears  very  ten 
derly  and  reined  him  a  little  nearer  to  his  mate. 
"  For  mine  ?  " 

"  Yes ;  I  saw  you  had  ideals,  and  I  wished  them 
to  be  satisfied.  No,  —  I  was  not  thinking  particu 
larly  of  Montegrifone."  The  Freiherr  had  become 
rather  proud  of  the  impulsive  action  that  had  in 
volved  Belriguardo  in  such  dire  embarrassments ; 
for  so  marked  an  impulsiveness  argued,  after  all,  a 
certain  degree  of  youth. 

"  Then,"  proceeded  Mam'zelle,  "  you  must  be 
thinking  of  the  Marchese  and  of  all  the  discom 
forts  you  made  him  undergo  just  for  my  pleasure. 
The  blame  for  that  is  no  less  mine  than  yours.  I 
will  share  it  with  you,"  she  said  sociably. 

"  Let  him  bear  it  all.  He  was  old  enough  to 
know  better.  Don't  give  him  a  thought  —  I  'm 
not  doing  so." 

"  Then,"  said  Mam'zelle,  "  you  are  thinking  of 
—  of  that  poor  dear  old  gentleman  from  Leyden. 
Your  conscience  reproaches  you  for  having  pro 
mised  to  travel  on  with  him  and  then  having 
chosen  to  travel  on  with  —  me  !  " 


216  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Oh,  he  will  rub  along  very  well,"  declared  the 
Freiherr.  "I  shall  meet  him  again,  somewhere, 
before  long.  Meanwhile,  he  does  n't  weigh  on  my 
mind,  I  assure  you." 

He  smiled  to  himself  at  Mam'zelle's  assumption 
of  his  having  "  chosen  "  to  travel  with  her.  There 
had  been  no  choice,  unless  a  choice  of  her  own. 
He  had  passively  accepted  an  arrangement  such 
as  the  fate  that  presides  over  the  fellowships  of 
voyagers  seemed  of  itself  to  have  decreed. 

"  Then,"  persisted  Mam'zelle  Hedwig,  now  mak 
ing  an  appreciable  advance  into  the  core  of  her 
theme,  "  you  are  reproaching  yourself  for  the  an 
noyances  you  caused  that  dear  little  Marchesina. 
So  youthful,  so  pretty,  so  charming,  so  worthy  the 
attentions  of  a  spirited  and  gallant  young  fellow  — 
and  yet  kept  under  a  cloud  the  whole  time !  What 
could  be  more  humiliating,  more  exasperating?" 

"  Nothing,"  acknowledged  the  Freiherr,  picking 
his  way  carefully  up  the  stony  slope. 

"  But  it  is  all  over  now,"  said  Mam'zelle,  em 
phasizing  her  assumption  that  Belriguardo  and 
its  associations  were  completely  of  the  dead  and 
buried  past ;  "  it  is  all  over  now.  No  wonder  you 
are  pensive  ;  no  wonder  you  sigh  !  " 

The  Freiherr  smiled.  This  presentation  of  the 
possible  loves  of  Bruno  and  Lucetta  pleased  him 
—  though  a  treatment  still  more  lightly  decorative 
would  have  harmonized  more  completely  with  the 
humor  that  always  prevailed  in  him  when  he  came 
to  consider  the  heart  interests  of  two  very  young 


MANGEUVRINGS  217 

people.  At  such  a  juncture  neither  temperament 
nor  habit  of  mind  greatly  helped  him.  Even  the 
much  more  tangible  affair  of  Bruno  and  Violante 
he  could  not  always  solidify  into  serious  signifi 
cance.  They  were  children,  just  as  he  and  Mam'- 
zelle  Hedwig  were  aging  adults.  The  affair  of 
two  children  was  light ;  the  affair  of  two  middle- 
aged  persons  was  absurd.  Sometimes  only  an 
affair  between  a  young  girl  and  a  man  no  longer 
in  his  first  youth  seemed  the  one  to  conserve  all 
the  necessary  elements  and  yet  to  eliminate  the 
elements  of  juvenile  slightness  and  of  absurdity. 

"  Yes,  it  is  all  over,"  reiterated  Mam'zelle,  with 
solemnity ;  "  it  is  all  a  thing  of  the  past.  And 
that  haughty,  heartless  girl,  who  threw  him  over 
when  she  felt  herself  disappointed  in  her  hopes 
of  earthly  grandeur  —  she  is  a  thing  of  the  past, 
too  ? "  asked  Mam'zelle,  dexterously  altering  her 
inflection  and  inserting  an  interrogation-point  in 
her  eyes  as  well  as  in  her  text.  "  Will  he  ever  for 
get  her  cruel  disdain  ?  Will  she  ever  forgive  his 
innocent  deception  ?  Yet  they  would  have  done 
so  well  together  ;  they  were  almost  made  for  each 
other.  It  seemed  so  to  me  ;  it  must  have  seemed 
so  to  you.  May  we  hear  of  their  union  yet !  " 

Mam'zelle  was  apparently  determined  to  wipe 
all  the  young  people  clean  off  the  board,  and  to 
leave  the  field  clear  for  the  manoeuvres  of  an 
earlier  generation.  "  It  must  have  seemed  so  to 
you,"  she  repeated.  "  Did  n't  it  ?  "  she  added. 
"  Does  n't  it  ?  "  she  added,  further. 


218  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Look  behind,"  said  von  Kaltenau,  twisting 
himself  sidewise  upon  the  furry  back  of  his  don 
key.  "  Let  us  drop  the  future  for  a  moment."  He 
waved  his  hand  seaward.  "  Let  us  cast  an  eye 
over  the  present,  —  and  the  past.  Look !  " 


Mam'zelle's  boy  plied  his  stick  and  grasped  his 
beast  by  the  tail  and  brought  the  widening  pro 
spect  over  plain  and  sea  and  rocky  coast  within 
her  range.  The  citadel  of  Eryx  still  lay  far  above 
them,  the  crown  of  many  wooded  and  precipitous 
slopes ;  but  the  horizon  had  lifted  itself  grandly, 
and  the  shores,  from  Punic  Marsala  on  the  one 
hand  to  the  bold  headland  of  San  Vito  on  the 
other,  spread  map-like  below  them.  Far  out  at 
sea  the  -ZEgadian  Isles  reared  their  mountainous 
peaks,  still  claiming  the  sky  rather  than  the  sea 
for  their  background,  and  challenging  —  tall  Mari 
time,  at  least  —  the  rugged  rock  above  their  heads, 
where  Phoanicians  and  Romans  alike  had  founded 
their  strongholds  and  sanctuaries.  Brigs  and  fe 
luccas  laden  with  grain  and  sulphur  and  the  wines 
of  Marsala  and  the  alabaster  of  Trapani  drew  their 
gray  or  ruddy  sails  across  the  blue  field  of  the  wa 
ter,  and  the  rich  coast  plains  stood  spring-decked 
in  the  varying  greens  of  orange  and  olive  and 
mastic-trees. 

Mam'zelle  looked.  "  Did  n't  it  ?  Does  n't  it  ?  " 
she  repeated. 


MANCEUVRINGS  219 

The  Freiherr  twitched  his  bridle.  Mam'zelle's 
abounding  enthusiasm  was  in  temporary  subordi 
nation  ;  he  wished  that  she  would  soon  become  her 
normal  self. 

"They  were  made  for  each  other,  of  course," 
she  reiterated.  "  It  cannot  be  that  you  would 
have  them  separated." 

The  Freiherr  gave  his  beast  a  second  intimation 
to  go  on. 

"  You  do  not  speak.  Does  that  mean  that  you 
have  not  made  up  your  mind  ?  " 

Donna  Violante,  under  Mam'zelle's  stippling 
touch,  was  recovering  a  vividness  that  had  begun 
to  fade.  Nothing  kept  her  completely  before  him 
save  her  own  bodily  presence  or  the  pointed  com 
ments  of  friends.  Bruno  could  accomplish  this  in 
one  way.  Mam'zelle  seemed  able  to  accomplish  it 
in  another.  Donna  Violante,  in  all  her  youth  and 
grace  and  beauty  and  spirit,  was  returning  from 
the  limbo  into  which  the  Freiherr's  dulled  brain 
had  allowed  her  to  lapse  ;  and  the  more  clearly 
she  reappeared  the  more  definitely  did  Mam'zelle 
Hedwig  seem  but  a  pleasant,  homely  grotesque  — 
and  nothing  more. 

"  It  is  hardly  my  mind  that  will  decide  these 
matters,"  he  replied. 

"  Then  let  them  decide  for  themselves." 

"  Where  there  are  three  hearts,  one  must  be 
broken,  I  suppose  !  " 

"  Then  make  a  firm  resolve.  Sacrifice  your 
self  !  " 


220  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  If  the  third  heart  were  only  mine !  But  the 
third  heart  is  the  Marchesina's  —  as  you  yourself 
have  just  pointed  out."  The  Freiherr  smiled  half 
whimsically,  half  provocatively,  as  a  man  who  does 
not  fully  know  his  own  mind.  "  Do  you  ask  me 
to  sacrifice  hers  ?  " 

"  That  girl  is  still  in  your  thoughts,  I  see." 

"  Lucetta  ?     Surely." 

"I  mean  the  other.  And  that  boy  should  be 
there  too.  You  have  a  duty  toward  him  —  a  duty 
of  forbearance,  at  least.  You  must  not  let  him  give 
you  the  right  to  accuse  you  of  —  of  treachery." 

"  Quite  true,"  said  the  Freiherr,  gravely.  "  I 
am  thinking  of  that." 

"  Their  union  is  predestined.  There  are  no  seri 
ous  bars  between  them.  There  is  no  line  of  race 
to  be  overstepped,  nor  of  age,  nor  of  rank,  nor  of 
language,  nor  of  creed." 

"  Those  are  all  things  to  be  considered." 

"Then  consider  them,"  said  Mam'zelle,  with 
emphatic  archness. 

Von  Kaltenau  smiled  as  he  reviewed  the  waver 
ing  course  of  Mam'zelle's  diplomacy,  the  donkey 
boys  thumped  and  shouted,  the  horizon  steadily 
rose ;  and  presently,  Mam'zelle,  standing  on  the 
rugged  rock  of  Eryx's  ivy-grown  castle,  laid  aside 
her  personal  preoccupations,  like  a  good  traveller, 
and  made  the  noble  prospect  far  and  wide  her 
own. 


MANCEUVBINGS  221 


VI 

Our  two  friends  soon  found  that  little  time  was 
needed  for  the  scanty  ruins  within  the  dwindling 
town,  and  they  presently  remounted  their  beasts 
to  regain  Trapani  by  sunset.  As  they  dismounted 
again,  just  within  Trapani's  town  gate,  a  man 
passed  by  with  the  observing  glance  of  the  stran 
ger  and  the  assured  mien  of  the  grand  seigneur. 
Von  Kaltenau  looked  after  him  and  recognized 
Giacinto  Malevento. 

They  met  that  evening  at  dinner  ;  they  were 
lodged  in  the  same  hotel,  and  they  ate,  as  chance 
would  have  it,  side  by  side  at  the  same  table.  Both 
were  surprised  at  this  rencontre  in  faraway  Tra 
pani,  and  both  sparred  politely,  each  to  learn  why 
the  other  was  here.  Donna  Violante,  upon  leaving 
Belriguardo,  had  laid  an  equal  ban  on  Montegri- 
fone  and  Malevento  alike  :  neither  of  them  was  to 
presume  to  make  the  slightest  attempt  toward  fol 
lowing  her.  Where  was  Violante  now?  Where 
was  Bruno  ?  Why  was  Malevento  here  ? 

"  You  have  been  in  Trapani  some  time  ?  "  asked 
the  Freiherr,  balancing  his  spoon. 

"  A  day  or  so." 

"  You  have  friends  here,  perhaps  ?  " 

"  Quite  the  contrary  !  "  returned  Malevento, 
shrugging  his  shoulders. 

"  Enemies,  then  ?  " 

"  That  might  be  said." 


222  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Enemies  ?  And  are  you  to  fight  them  or  to 
fly  them?" 

"  Both." 

"  You  are  not  to  fly  too  soon,  I  trust.  I  shall 
hope  to  have  the  pleasure  of  finding  you  still  here 
to-morrow." 

"  Until  to-morrow  noon  —  no  longer.  Time  has 
its  value."  Malevento  spoke  as  one  who,  if  he  had 
not  accomplished  his  purpose,  had  at  least  laid  his 
hands  upon  the  means  of  doing  so.  "  And  you  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  fixed  plans,  no  set  hours.  I  am  a 
mere  idler." 

"  You  are  here  alone  ?  " 

"  No,"  smiled  the  Freiherr. 

"  Still  the  faithful  friend,  I  see." 

"  I  hope  so,"  returned  the  Freiherr,  smiling 
broadly.  "  I  ask  to  be  no  more." 

"Friendship  makes  its  exactions,  inflicts  its 
trials." 

"  Truly  you  are  right." 

"  And  has  its  failures  as  well  as  its  successes." 

"  So  much  so  that  certain  forms  of  friendship 
might  be  said  to  be  foredoomed  to  failure." 

"  Yes ;  friendships  where  there  is  a  great  dispar 
ity  of  years :  there  must  be  no  greater  trial  than 
the  headlong  selfishness  of  mere  boyhood." 

"  Or  the  clinging  hold  of  coming  middle  age." 

Malevento  could  get  no  particular  meaning  out 
of  this  observation.  It  seemed,  however,  to  remove 
Bruno  from  the  field.  "  You  find  little  enough  of 
interest  here,  I  suppose  ?  " 


MANCEUVRINGS  223 

"  Little  enough.     And  you  ?  " 

"  I  look  for  nothing  more  than  has  been  yielded 
already." 

"  Something  of  value,  I  dare  say?  " 

"  Something  of  great  value.  You  will  be  leaving 
to-morrow  too  ?  " 

"  Possibly." 

"  And  you  go  toward  "  — 

"  It  may  be  Selinunto.     Or  Girgenti." 

"  Make  it  Girgenti,  by  all  means.  The  hotel 
there  is  too  good  to  lose  —  the  only  good  one  in 
the  Island,  outside  of  Palermo.  It  is  a  family 
villa.  I  know  the  proprietor  —  a  charming  fellow : 
a  young  man  who  was  a  lieutenant  of  cavalry,  and 
who  keeps  his  own  racing  stable  .  .  .  Let  me  note 
it  down  for  you.  Make  it  Girgenti,  by  all  means ! " 

Malevento  thrust  his  hand  into  his  pocket,  with 
the  idea  of  dedicating  a  detached  page  from  his 
note-book  to  this  service.  Along  with  the  note 
book  came  two  or  three  letters  that  fell  on  the  table 
amidst  the  spoons  and  glasses.  One  of  them,  in 
particular,  caught  the  Freiherr's  eye.  Its  square 
envelope,  of  a  creamy  white,  was  addressed  (aside 
from  the  supplementary  hands  of  forwarding 
clerks)  in  the  large,  sprawling,  angular  penman 
ship  that  awakens  admiration  in  some  parts  of  the 
world  and  derisive  wonder  in  others.  But  the 
mere  penmanship  was  nothing ;  it  was  the  address 
itself  that  took  his  attention.  This  address,  which 
showed  a  fine  relish  for  the  elaboration  of  an  aris 
tocratic  title,  was  that  of  the  Duke  of  Montegri- 


224  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

fone ;  and  the  postmark,  which  the  Freiherr  caught 
as  well,  in  the  brief  moment  that  intervened  before 
Malevento  could  snatch  the  letters  up,  shuffle  them 
together,  and  return  them  hastily  to  his  pocket, 
was  that  of  Trapani,  where,  doubtless,  the  letter 
had  just  been  claimed  and  delivered. 

"  There  !  "  said  Malevento,  thrusting  his  memo 
randum  upon  von  Kaltenau.  "  Enrico  is  a  thor 
oughly  good  fellow ;  he  will  do  everything  to 
make  you  comfortable.  And  when  you  go  to  Syra 
cuse,"  he  went  on  rapidly,  "  there  is  the  new  hotel 
close  to  the  harbor.  And  at  Taormina  —  of  course 
you  will  not  omit  Taormina  —  pass  over  the  whole 
brood  of  minor  inns  and  go  to  the  monastery  that 
my  friend  Count  Albergatore  has  just  fitted  up. 
The  most  glorious  situation  in  Europe,  on  a  cliff  a 
hundred  and  fifty  metres  above  the  sea,  full  in  the 
face  of  the  Calabrian  mountains,  and  in  the  very 
front  of  ^Etna  —  I  am  sure  you  like  mountains, 
you  strange  Northerner.  You  sleep  in  the  cells, 
and  every  bedroom  has  its  antechamber ;  and  there 
are  bath-tubs,  I  am  told,  in  case  you  care  to  "  — 

Malevento  was  struggling  hardily  to  recover  his 
self -composure  and  to  down  the  tell-tale  flush  he 
felt  upon  his  cheek. 

"  Thank  you,'*  said  von  Kaltenau,  accepting 
the  memorandum.  "  You  have  done  me  a  great 
service." 

It  came  to  this,  then:  Bruno  was  here,  and 
Malevento  was  intercepting  his  letters.  Which 
of  the  two  had  come  first,  and  why  had  the  other 


MANOEUVRINGS  225 

followed?  And  why  was  Malevento  so  intent 
upon  packing  his  "  strange  Northerner  "  to  the 
other  extreme  of  the  island  ? 

"  Yes,  Bruno  is  here,"  said  the  Freiherr,  coming 
back  to  the  one  seeming  certainty.  He  made  im 
mediate  inquiries  within  his  own  hotel  and  sent 
messengers  to  the  others.  Nothing  was  learned. 
"  To-morrow  morning,  at  the  bankers'  and  at  the 
post-office,"  he  said. 

VII 

The  bankers  told  him  nothing,  but  the  post-office 
had  a  letter  for  him  —  a  letter  whose  original  ad 
dress  in  a  crabbed  scholastic  hand  was  now  over 
laid  by  the  work  of  many  clerkly  pens.  It  was 
from  Dottore  Balanzoni,  and  was  dated  from  a 
villa  —  which  turned  out  to  be,  after  all,  but  a 
dilapidated  masseria  —  in  the  remoter  environs 
of  the  capital. 

"  She  is  here,"  he  wrote  ;  "  come."  She,  it  im 
mediately  developed,  was  Donna  Violante.  And 
her  condition  ?  That  was  portrayed  as  promptly, 
if  all  too  briefly :  she  was  eating  her  heart  out. 

No  supplementary  means  of  succor  was  sug 
gested  ;  no  consoler  of  Yiolante's  own  years  was 
mentioned.  The  Freiherr  felt  that  he  himself  was 
frankly  treated  here  as  a  young  man,  and  was  not 
displeased.  The  image  of  Donna  Violante  came 
to  his  mind  once  more  ;  he  reviewed  the  varying 
outward  forms  that  heartbreak  may  assume.  He 
saw  her  with  a  pale  cheek  propped  by  an  elbow 


226  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

on  some  ruinous  balustrade ;  he  saw  her  dragging 
her  weary  feet  regretfully,  perhaps  remorsefully, 
through  some  dank,  neglected  garden  .  .  . 

He  read  the  letter  again  and  smiled  at  the 
determined  efforts  of  the  old  gentleman  from  Ley- 
den  to  throw  himself  into  the  pulsing  concerns  of 
life.  Despite  this  obvious  intention,  the  tone  of 
the  letter  was  singularly  nebulous,  indecisive.  It 
betrayed  throughout  the  accents  of  the  temporizer ; 
it  seemed  to  convey  a  vague  apology  for  inaction. 
And,  indeed,  why  should  Balanzoni,  why  should 
anybody  else  linger  in  a  place  so  curious  and  so 
curiously  situated  ?  Was  it  mere  whim  ?  Was  it 
fear  ?  Was  it  simply  nerveless  incertitude  ? 

The  Freiherr  walked  through  the  town  to  the 
harbor,  creasing  his  letter  and  wondering  what  re 
sponse  —  whether  of  word  or  of  deed  —  he  should 
make.  Donna  Violante  would  leap  to  his  eye  as 
a  pleasing  possibility  whenever  the  friendly  hand 
of  another  was  advanced  to  perform  the  propelling 
act ;  the  string  sounded  vibrantly  enough  when 
plucked  by  some  power  outside  himself.  A  look 
from  Bruno,  a  word  from  Mam'zelle,  a  line  from 
Balanzoni,  and  there  she  stood.  But  there  seemed 
little  within  him  to  enable  him  to  do  this  for  him 
self,  and  every  vibration  caused  from  without  was 
a  thought  weaker  than  the  preceding  one.  No; 
more  than  the  chance  phraseology  of  a  letter  was 
needed  to  make  him  feel  that  he  was  still  young. 
His  best  years  —  his  good  years  —  were  past ;  he 
lived  by  proxy ;  he  felt  by  mere  secondary  impact. 


HANCEUVRINGS  227 

What  miracle  could  be  expected  to  turn  back  the 
hands  of  time,  to  make  good  his  general  dilapi 
dation,  to  string  to  a  vigorous  tension  the  relaxed 
fibre  of  his  spirit  ? 

He  was  now  upon  the  rough  flagging  of  the 
quay.  Ships  and  facchini  multiplied ;  casks  and 
boxes  blocked  his  way.  The  smells  of  the  port, 
grateful  or  otherwise,  were  stronger  in  his  nos 
trils  ;  the  cry  of  a  sailor,  silhouetted  against  the 
fleckless  blue,  came  down  from  a  yardarm  over 
head  ;  a  coasting  steamer,  at  anchor  for  the  past 
hour  in  the  harbor,  gave  repeated  signs  of  coming 
departure. 

Before  one  of  the  houses  fronting  on  the  quay 
he  saw  gathered  a  little  knot  of  three  or  four  men. 
One  in  the  middle  received  the  deference  of  the 
rest,  and  all  of  them  gesticulated  freely  in  the 
direction  of  the  house,  as  might  a  great  landed 
proprietor  and  his  familiars.  The  central  figure 
suddenly  added  a  sweeping  gesture  to  those  already 
made,  —  a  gesture  to  portend  immediate  and  radi 
cal  changes  of  much  moment,  following  upon  the 
exercise  of  the  master's  own  good  pleasure.  The 
Freiherr  looked  more  closely.  It  was  Bruno. 


vni 

Their  eyes  met.  "Were  the  rancours  and  heart 
burnings  of  the  past  done  with,  or  were  they  still 
to  prevail  ?  Had  Bruno  forgiven  ?  Would  he  not 
grant  some  recognition  of  the  Freiherr's  services 


228  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

in  one  direction,  however  ill-judged  his  efforts  may 
have  been  in  another  ? 

Bruno  advanced.  In  a  tone  calmly  gracious, 
but  slightly  distant,  he  gave  the  Freiherr  greeting. 
Things  had  taken  on  a  new  aspect.  He  had  now 
been  beheld  by  his  former  friend  as  a  great  landed 
noble  in  the  very  exercise  of  his  high  functions, 
and  all  recollection  of  the  brief  hour  of  mortifica 
tion  at  Belriguardo  he  could  well  afford  to  set 
aside. 

The  Freiherr  detached  Bruno  from  his  stewards 
and  agents  and  told  him  that  Malevento  was  in 
the  town. 

"  I  know  it,"  replied  Bruno,  not  warming  ap 
preciably.  "  I  have  seen  him  once  or  twice." 

"  Why  is  he  here  ?  " 

"  Because  I  am  here,  I  dare  say,"  replied  Bruno, 
turning  aside  a  little,  as  if  still  interested  in  his 
house.  "  He  heard  where  I  was,  and  followed." 

"Why?" 

"  To  learn  what  he  seems  to  have  been  unable 
to  learn  elsewhere." 

"  Has  he  learned  it  ?  " 

"  Not  from  me,"  said  Bruno,  looking  askance  at 
the  shipping,  with  a  dark  frown. 

"  You  had  nothing  to  tell  ?  " 

"Nothing." 

Von  Kaltenau  pondered.  Bruno  was  cooling; 
Bruno  was  no  longer  gracious — he  was  become  al 
most  sullen ;  that  cruel  wound  stung  and  smarted 
still.  He  himself  was  in  part  to  blame  and  ought 


MANCEUVRINGS  229 

to  make  what  amends  he  could.  He  held  the 
means  of  grace  within  his  hand  —  a  means  of 
grace  to  serve  for  either  :  should  he  employ  it 
upon  himself  while  doubting  if  his  case  might  not 
be  beyond  its  efficacy,  or  should  he  employ  it  in 
behalf  of  another  with  whom  it  was  much  more 
likely  to  succeed  ?  And  there  was  Bruno's  friend 
ship  ;  he  could  not  reconcile  himself  to  the  idea  of 
letting  it  slip  away. 

Bruno  thrummed  upon  the  head  of  a  cask  and 
looked  at  his  companion  as  if  to  ask  what  further 
thing  he  had  to  say.  The  Freiherr  worked  his 
clasped  fingers  behind  his  back  ;  here,  truly,  was 
a  youth  to  whom  he  owed  a  debt  of  gratitude  that 
never  could  be  fully  discharged.  Everything  that 
he  had  seen  he  had  seen  through  Bruno's  eyes; 
everything  that  he  had  felt  had  reached  him 
through  Bruno's  well-attuned  nature.  His  enjoy 
ment  of  earth's  beauties  and  his  interest  in  human 
kind  had  been  quickened  through  this  medium. 
Left  to  himself,  he  was  helpless  —  there  could  be 
no  deception  here.  It  was  Bruno  who  had  re 
vealed  Rome  to  him,  the  world  to  him,  the  men 
and  women  in  it.  One  woman,  particularly. 
Alone,  he  should  have  been  blind  even  to  Belri- 
guardo,  and  pulseless  even  before  Yiolante.  In 
his  eyes  she  was  only  what  Bruno  had  made  her 
seem.  Even  now,  before  his  own  unaided  vision, 
she  would  be  doomed  to  sudden  collapse  and  ex 
tinction.  The  part  for  him  to  play  was  the  part 
of  renunciation.  The  animation  of  his  past  month 


230  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

had  been  but  a  temporary  and  deceptive  revival ; 
his  dulled,  numbed  being  had  been  galvanized  to 
a  brief  and  ghastly  similitude  of  life.  There  was 
nothing  left  for  him  but  to  help  on  the  happiness 
of  others.  Already  he  felt  himself  drawing  back 
into  the  cool  gray  shade  of  altruism  —  the  Last 
Refuge,  as  it  seemed,  if  any  indeed  remained. 

"  Have  you  received  all  the  letters  you  ex 
pected  ?  "  he  asked  at  last. 

"  I  hope  so,"  replied  Bruno. 

"  Here  is  one." 

"  It  is  addressed  to  you." 

"  But  meant  for  you.  It  will  replace  another 
that  was  sent  to  you,  but  never  reached  you." 

"  Never  reached  me  ?  " 

"  One  from  a  woman." 

Bruno's  eyes  lighted  up.  "  A  woman  ?  Was  it 
from  Donna  "  — 

"  I  shall  not  go  so  far  as  to  say  that.  But  this 
one  is." 

Bruno  took  the  letter  and  cast  a  puzzled  look  at 
the  envelope.  "  Where  did  you  see  the  other  ?  " 

"  In  the  hands  of  Giacinto  Malevento,  who 
leaves  this  place  within  an  hour."  He  looked  at 
his  watch.  "  No  ;  less  than  that." 

"  How  did  he  get  possession  of  it  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  they  can  tell  you  at  the  post-office. 
Meanwhile,  read  the  one  you  have." 


MANCEUVRINGS  231 


IX 

As  Bruno  stood  there,  a  few  moments  later,  in 
full  knowledge  of  Donna  Violante's  place  of  re 
treat  and  in  full  appreciation  of  von  Kaltenau's 
continuing  kindness,  a  carriage  laden  with  a  variety 
of  light  luggage  came  clattering  along  the  rough 
pavement,  headed  for  the  point  of  embarkation. 
The  occupant,  with  a  nervous  eye  fixed  upon  the 
steamer  at  anchor  in  the  middle  of  the  harbor, 
urged  the  driver  to  push  on  his  stumbling  beast, 
and  held  in  place  as  best  he  might  the  bags  and 
portmanteaus  jostled  to  and  fro  by  the  rough  ra 
pidity  of  his  course.  It  was  Giacinto  Malevento. 

Bruno  called  to  the  driver  to  halt. 

A  clumsy  facchino,  crossing  before  the  horse  at 
that  moment,  dropped  a  case  of  oranges,  and  the 
resulting  wreck  made  an  instant's  delay  inevitable. 

"  I  stop  on  your  command,  of  course,"  said 
Malevento,  pointing  satirically  to  a  second  porter 
who  had  fallen  over  the  first  and  blocked  the  nar 
row  way  entirely.  "  T\"hat  is  your  pleasure  ?  " 

"  To  hold  you  where  you  are." 

"  For  a  moment,  my  dear  friend ;  no  longer.  I 
have  information,  and  must  act  upon  it." 

"  I  shall  act  too.  The  foul  means  you  have  em 
ployed  shall  not  go  unheeded  —  nor  unpunished." 

"  '  All  is  fair  '  — you  know  the  rest.  You  know 
everything,  save  the  one  great  essential,  which  re 
mains  my  secret  and  shall  work  to  my  advantage." 


232  THE  LAST   REFUGE 

"I  know  all  that  you  know,"  said  Bruno, 
savagely. 

"Then  why  are  you  loitering  here?  But  the 
reason  is  plain  :  the  new  master,  engrossed  in  the 
novel  pleasure  of  possession.  May  these  new  pos 
sessions  be  more  real  than  others  have  proved !  " 

"  They  will  be.  They  are,"  said  Bruno,  shortly, 
with  a  rising  anger. 

"  Ah,  the  dilemma  of  opposing  interests,  then  — 
too  much  for  an  inexperienced  boy  to  grasp.  Let 
me  help  you  —  let  me  share  your  burden.  Go  on 
looking  after  your  new  houses  and  lands ;  I  will 
look  after  the  rest !  " 

Bruno,  with  a  fierce  cry,  instantly  had  his  foot 
upon  the  carriage-step  and  his  hand  upon  Male- 
vent  o's  throat. 

"  Bruno !  "  cried  the  Freiherr  ;  "  not  here ;  not 
now ! " 

Malevento,  rolling  his  eyes  wildly,  reached  for 
the  driver's  whip.  Both  his  race  and  his  rank 
negatived  the  notion  that  he  should  combat  as 
man  to  man  with  the  mere  elemental  weapons  of 
nature's  own  providing.  In  default  of  a  knife  to 
plunge  into  the  throat  of  this  savage  beast  or  a 
pistol  to  point  against  his  breast,  a  whip-cord 
slashed  across  his  face  or  a  whip-handle  broken 
over  his  head  must  serve  the  turn.  But  Bruno 
crowded  him  back  among  his  bags  and  choked 
him  black  in  the  face. 

"  You  miserable  wretch !  "  he  cried  ;  "  I  know 
all  you  know  and  how  you  learned  it !  I  know 


MANCEUVRINGS  233 

where  you  are  going  and  why  you  are  going,  and 
I  shall  prevent  it !  " 

"  Fall  back,  you  mad  young  savage ! "  said 
Malevento,  articulating  as  best  he  might  through 
the  viselike  grip  of  Bruno's  strong  brown  hands. 
And  then,  to  the  driver :  "  Go  on  ;  go  on  !  " 

The  horse,  lashed  vindictively  by  the  coachman, 
sprang  forward  through  the  debris  that  littered 
the  roadway.  The  carriage,  with  a  crunch  and  a 
jolt,  passed  over  the  broken  boxes,  and  Bruno, 
none  too  firmly  poised  upon  the  step  and  embar 
rassed  by  the  shifting  mass  of  Malevento's  lug 
gage,  reeled  backward  and  barely  saved  himself 
from  falling  flat  in  the  roadway.  Before  he  had 
fully  recovered  himself,  Malevento,  rattling  ahead 
rapidly,  had  gained  the  quay. 

u  I  will  follow  him,"  panted  Bruno.  "  We  will 
board  that  steamer  too,  and  reach  the  villa  as  soon 
as  he  does." 

"  My  dear  Bruno,"  expostulated  the  Freiherr, 
aghast  before  a  flight  still  more  hurried  than  any 
they  had  undertaken  yet ;  "  this  is  quite  imprac 
ticable.  We  have  our  luggage,  our  concerns  here, 
our  indebtedness  to  settle,  our  —  friends  "  — 

"  Our  friends  ?  I  have  you,  and  you  have  me. 
What  more  ?  " 

Yon  Kaltenau's  eyes  moistened  as  Montegri- 
fone  thus  suddenly  and  completely  sealed  their 
reconciliation. 

"  Mam'zelle  Hedwig,"  he  said,  "  could  scarcely 
be  left  here  without  a  word  of  "  — 


234  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Humph !     She  is  still  with  you,  then  ?  " 

"  Still  with  me,"  replied  the  Freiherr,  patiently. 
"  But  what  difference  is  there  in  an  hour  or  two  ? 
Or  even  in  a  day  or  two  —  if  you  are  sure  of  merit 
ing  the  first  place  in  Donna  Violante's  thoughts  ?  " 

"  An  hour  or  two  ?  "  cried  Bruno,  stridently ;  "  a 
day  or  two  ?  Say  a  year  or  two,  and  spend  them 
here,  with  your  blood  thickening  into  pitch.  But 
I  —  can  I  wait  calmly  here,  knowing  that  every 
moment  is  "  — 

"  Take  the  train." 

"  No  train  leaves  till  dusk.  And  the  last  one 
left  an  hour  ago." 

"  Intercept  that  one."  For  Trapani,  most  remote 
of  all  places,  lies  at  the  end  of  a  long,  wide  bend, 
to  cover  which  consumes  the  better  half  of  a  day ; 
—  the  minimum  of  distance,  the  maximum  of  time. 

"How?" 

"  Find  a  vetturino  at  once.  "We  can  set  out 
within  half  an  hour,  everything  in  readiness,  and 
all  dues  discharged.  Get  a  good  coach  and  good 
horses.  It  is  a  mere  dash  across  country  of  twenty 
miles." 

This  proposal  caught  Bruno's  fancy,  and  fell  in 
with  his  urgent  need  for  action.  To  sit  passively 
on  land  or  on  water,  in  company  with  a  hundred 
other  people,  all  equally  the  victims  of  a  formal 
time-table  and  a  hopelessly  indifferent  engineer, 
would  be  intolerable.  A  mad  course  over  moun 
tain  roads  responded  more  closely  to  his  mood  :  he 
himself  might  urge  and  cry  and  belabor,  might 


MANCEUVRINGS  235 

stimulate  by  voice  and  example  and  promise  of 
gain  the  lagging  energies  of  man  and  beast. 
Sturdy  shoulders  set,  if  need  be,  against  reluc 
tant  wheels,  impassioned  imprecations  hurled  at  the 
heads  of  loitering  carters  .  .  . 

"  I  choose  your  way,"  he  said.  "  And  may  the 
steamer  be  late  !  " 

"  The  steamers  almost  always  are,"  said  the 
Freiherr,  composedly. 


Sunset.  The  Ave  Maria  echoed  faintly  from 
height  to  height  along  the  far  sweep  of  girdling 
hills,  and  the  last  rays  of  the  sun  illumined  with  a 
golden  mist  the  green  reach  of  plain  and  the  blue 
expanse  of  bay  and  set  a  silver-purple  bloom  upon 
the  distant  mountains  whose  wide  embrace  inclosed 
the  most  enchanting  prospect  that  human  eye  may 
view  or  human  memory  recall.  The  plain  was  lux 
uriant  with  spring's  richest  leafage  of  citron  and 
lemon  and  odorous  with  the  far-flung  breath  of 
orange  blossoms  innumerable.  The  sea  pulsed  with 
the  swift  lightness  of  fishing-boats  returning  to 
port  under  ruddy  sails  that  glowed  more  ruddy 
still  before  the  enkindled  gleam  now  shining  from 
the  west.  The  mountains  swam  and  wavered  in 
suave  outlines  that  almost  merged  in  the  unsullied 
azure  of  the  sky  itself,  and  reared  their  high- 
perched  villages  to  shine  pink  in  the  full-flooded 
glow  of  the  day's  last  hour,  and  looked  down 


236  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

proudly  upon  numberless  lovely  villas  at  their 
feet,  where  recessed  loggias  or  long-drawn  balus 
trades  broke  with  faint  shadows  the  universal 
reign  of  light.  And  above  all  the  mountains  — 
in  the  midst  of  their  revering  circle  —  rose  one 
more  beautiful  than  any.  Its  triple  peaks  hung 
there  delicately  in  a  tender  bloom  of  purple,  like 
the  vast  and  noble  tent  of  some  Saracenic  emir 
seen,  or  half  seen,  through  the  delusive  air  of  the 
desert.  And  a  sole  pink  cloud,  the  only  one  in 
sight,  hovered  above  its  central  peak,  like  a  crown 
descending  upon  the  brow  of  acknowledged  ma 
jesty.  And  at  the  mountain's  foot,  upon  the  edge 
of  the  bay,  was  seen,  or  half  seen,  a  city.  Its 
white  walls,  its  domes,  its  towers,  rising  above  the 
citrons  and  tamarisks  and  magnolias  of  the  plain, 
caught  the  same  pink  glow  that  suffused  the  whole 
wide  prospect.  But  distance  softened  its  outlines 
to  uncertainty,  and  the  lance-like  forms  of  many 
cypresses  that  rose  dispersedly  between  teased  and 
thwarted  the  eye  that  would  achieve  a  clearer 
vision.  Yet  there  it  lay,  the  city  palpitant,  the 
city  illuminate ;  the  city  of  highest  hopes  and  of 
most  boundless  desires  ;  the  city  that,  seen  with 
the  eyes  of  the  heart,  shines  gracious  and  alluring 
beyond  all  others :  —  La  Felice,  the  City  of  Hap 
piness. 

And  upon  its  own  rocky  spur  sat,  like  the  rest, 
the  Villa  dei  Dubbii  and  shared  this  enchanting 
prospect  with  its  mates.  But  the  villa  was  now  a 
villa  by  courtesy  only  —  a  villa  merely  through 


MANCEUVRINGS  237 

memory's  retrospective  charity.  It  had  sunk 
slowly  to  the  last  stages  of  neglect  and  dilapida 
tion,  and  was  now  little  better  than  a  farmhouse, 
little  more  than  a  tavern  that  humbly  requested 
the  poor  patronage  of  the  infrequent  passer-by 
and  echoed  to  the  brief  joviality  of  carters  noisy 
over  their  cups.  And  young  Kocco,  who  ruled  its 
half  dismantled  chambers  and  stabled  his  draught 
horses  in  its  cavernous  basements,  was  at  once 
husbandman  and  host.  A  few  beds,  seldom  occu 
pied,  stood  gauntly  beneath  frescoed  ceilings ;  and 
a  garden,  an  orchard,  a  haycock,  and  two  or  three 
butts  of  wine  hidden  away  somewhere  in  the  villa's 
dusky  substructure  kept  him  in  countenance  when 
his  rudely  lettered  sign  caused  an  infrequent  trav 
eller  to  halt  and  to  request  the  customary  refresh 
ment  for  man  and  beast. 

Young  Rocco  had  worked  contentedly  enough 
among  his  vines  and  sung  as  he  plied  his  mattock 
in  his  barley  patch  ;  and  Barbara  had  cooked  and 
washed  and  spun ;  and  the  baby  had  played  with 
his  toes  or  crept  down  the  dishevelled  avenue  of 
holm  oaks  in  search  of  casual  fallen  leaves  —  all 
three  equally  regardless  of  the  great  outside  world 
and  its  interests.  And  now  the  world  was  come 
to  them.  The  last  few  days  had  brought  it.  It  had 
come  on  foot  and  on  wheels  and  on  horseback  — 
a  strange,  diversified  world  that  none  of  them  had 
ever  known,  not  even  the  baby.  And  it  moped  in 
ones  and  twos  along  the  broken  pavement  of  Roc- 
co's  terrace,  and  sat  meditatively  for  long  hours 


238  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

over  unsipped  glasses  of  wine,  with  its  elbows 
planted  on  his  rude  and  rickety  tables,  and  con 
ferred  in  ominous  whispers  among  the  unkempt 
laurel  thickets  where  the  pedestals  bereft  of  stat 
ues  gathered  mosses  unto  themselves  through  the 
uneventful  years.  But  most  of  all  did  these 
strange  creatures  lean  forward  over  the  disinte 
grating  sandstone  balustrade  and  gaze  in  long 
silences  at  the  distant  city.  And  more  than  at 
any  other  hour  were  they  prone  to  this  at  the  hour 
of  sunset,  when  one  great  dome  caught  at  the 
excess  of  golden  light  and  all  the  multitudinous 
topmasts  of  the  harbor  seemed  tipped  with  living 
fire.  Then  they  would  look  fearfully  at  one  an 
other,  and  each  say  to  his  neighbor  —  yet  of tener 
each  to  himself  —  "  To-morrow.  We  will  go  down 
to-morrow." 

But  to-morrow  came,  and  still  they  tarried. 
Hope  seemed  no  stronger  than  fear ;  expectation 
was  palsied  by  doubt.  Young  Rocco,  never  of  too 
speculative  a  nature,  gave  up  speculation  alto 
gether.  He  and  his  wife  attended  to  the  wants 
of  their  guests  as  best  they  knew  how,  and  carried 
on  their  customary  occupations  as  best  these  inter 
ruptions  would  allow,  and  came  to  heed  scarcely 
more  than  did  little  Nino  himself  the  timorous 
accents  of  that  reiterated  word:  To-morrow,  to 
morrow. 

The  sun  sank,  the  last  echoes  of  the  chiming 
bells  died  away,  and  the  sound  of  a  carriage  that 
coursed  furiously  along  the  doubling  road  below 


MANCEUVRINGS  239 

came  up  through  the  olive  grove  shivering  in 
the  twilight.  The  clamor  mounted,  the  carriage 
stopped  at  the  ruined  posts  that  flanked  Kocco's 
dismantled  gateway,  and  two  men,  Bruno  and  the 
Freiherr,  advanced  rapidly  along  the  oak  avenue 
toward  the  terrace  upon  which  a  dozen  or  more 
despondent  persons  were  just  settling  down  to  a 
frugal  supper  of  Kocco's  providing.  Von  Kalte- 
nau,  scanning  the  group  rapidly,  saw  several 
familiar  faces  —  among  them  that  of  the  old  man 
whom  he  had  once  found  musing  amidst  the  ruined 
temples  of  Metapontum  —  and  as  many  strange 
ones.  Bruno's  eye,  brushing  past  all  these,  friend 
and  stranger  alike,  saw  but  one  thing :  Donna  Vio- 
lante,  leaning  against  the  balustrade  with  drooping 
head,  while  close  beside  her,  holding  her  hand  and 
whispering  in  her  ear,  stood  Giacinto  Malevento. 


PAKT  VII. —  THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS 


TO-MORROW  had  dawned  thrice  upon  the  Villa 
dei  Dubbii,  and  once  more  still,  and  yet  again,  and 
the  doleful  dwellers  within  that  House  of  Doubt 
had  made  a  collective  resolve  that  the  next  to-mor 
row  should  be  the  last,  when  the  arrival  of  Donna 
Violante,  whose  coming  was  late  and  purely  by 
chance,  plunged  them  back  into  the  gloom  from 
which  they  had  been  striving  so  heroically  to 
emerge. 

"  We  must  make  an  end  of  this,"  Dottore  Balan- 
zoni  had  said  one  afternoon,  addressing  the  whole 
sad  company.  "  Let  us  summon  up  our  courage, 
and  risk  all  upon  the  last  cast  of  the  die.  We 
have  all  but  reached  our  goal ;  let  us  learn  every 
thing,  whether  of  good  or  ill,  that  may  await 
us." 

"You  are  right,"  said  the  Lady  of  Quality,  in 
fullest  approval.  "  Such  a  strain  is  unbearable. 
The  worst  certainty  could  be  no  worse  than  this 
dreadful  suspense.  My  coaches  shall  be  made 
ready — to-morrow.  You  shall  all  go  with  me  ;  to 
morrow  morning  we  will  meet  our  fate  in  a  body." 

Then  Donna  Violante  had  come,  bringing  her 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  241 

own  uncertainties  and  fears,  exhausted,  exasper 
ated,  and  attended,  as  ever,  by  Monna  Clotilde. 
They  knew  her  plight  already,  and  little  time  was 
lost  before  she  had  learned  of  theirs.  Violante 
threw  a  vindictive  glance  of  hatred  upon  the  city 
beneath  them,  —  the  city  of  her  birth,  —  and 
spread  a  smile  of  disdainful  pity  over  the  doubting 
and  despondent  souls  that  had  come  flocking  round 
her. 

"  This,  then,"  she  cried,  as  she  extended  her  arm 
toward  the  distant  walls  that  rose  from  the  gir 
dling  plantations  of  citrons  and  medlars,  "  is  the 
asylum  you  have  imagined,  the  last  harbor  of 
refuge  to  which  you  have  all  shaped  your  course ! 
Then  let  me  tell  you  that  you  might  have  made  a 
better  choice  !  Well  may  you  linger  here  in  hesi 
tation  !  You  look  for  light,  for  joy,  for  the  ful 
filment  of  every  dearest  hope ;  but  you  will  be 
disappointed.  I  who  speak  know  that  city  and 
know  it  well.  I  was  born  there,  bred  there  ;  yet 
what  has  it  given  me,  its  daughter?  Coldness, 
injustice,  harsh  severity.  It  has  repressed  the 
best  impulses  of  my  nature  and  thwarted  my  every 
just  desire."  Donna  Violante  spoke  indeed  as  a 
daughter,  but  as  the  daughter  of  stern  and  un 
sympathetic  parents,  contrivers  of  restraints  and 
coercions,  callous  inflicters  of  punishment.  For 
her  the  city  was  a  city  of  hard-faced  fathers,  of 
indifferent  relatives,  of  carefully  guarded  con 
finement,  of  broken  hopes  and  balked  desires* 
"  Forego  your  expectations,  whatever  they  may 


242  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

be,"  she  cried,  with  impatient  scorn.  "  If  your 
last  hopes  are  centred  here,  I  pity  you  indeed !  " 

The  little  company  cowered  beneath  these  cruel 
buffets.  Action  once  more  was  palsied ;  to-morrow 
held  no  more  promise  than  to-day. 

There  was  a  certain  self-absorbed  student  among 
them,  an  abstracted  follower  of  the  courses  of  his 
tory,  to  whom  to-morrow  was  less  than  yesterday, 
and  yesterday  less  than  the  day  before.  He  held 
aloof  from  the  others  and  apostrophized  the  city 
softly,  and  was  shaping  a  private  resolve  to  flee 
alone  forthwith.  He  was  impatient  to  move 
through  a  town  whose  varied  inhabitants  had  lived 
at  once  under  a  triple  code,  —  that  of  the  Sara 
cens,  the  Normans,  and  the  Greeks,  —  ruled  by 
masters  who  had  blended  with  the  laws  that  gov 
erned  Rouen  and  St.  L6  the  Codex  of  Justinian 
and  the  precepts  of  the  Koran.  He  was  eager  to 
find  himself  beneath  the  roofs  of  monuments  that 
fused  these  three  racial  influences  in  enduring 
stone  and  marble,  and  to  stand  before  the  tombs 
of  kings  who  had  spoken  the  triple  tongue  of 
Athens,  Arabia,  and  Norman  France.  Particu 
larly  did  the  Arabic  fascinate  him.  Though  the 
name  of  the  city  was  Greek,  the  lesser  details  of 
its  nomenclature  were  largely  Oriental.  "  Gala," 
he  would  murmur  ;  "  Cassaro ;  Kalsa :  the  imme 
morial  East  still  stamps  their  harbor,  their  streets, 
their  squares." 

He  lay  these  considerations  before  Donna  Vio- 
lante,  timidly.  But  for  her  the  city  was  not  a  city 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  243 

of  the  past ;  no,  rather  of  the  poignant  and  embit 
tered  present.  She  stared  at  him  in  disdainful 
wonder  and  gave  him  no  reply. 

Less  fortunate  was  a  certain  placid,  silver-headed 
scientist,  whose  absorbing  interest  in  botany  had 
plunged  him  into  the  midst  of  the  Sicilian  spring. 
He  too  would  lean  over  Rocco's  balustrade  —  to 
spy  out  a  certain  lordly  and  historic  pleasure-house 
on  the  further  skirts  of  the  town,  a  retreat  devised 
for  their  northern  rulers  by  Saracenic  artisans. 
There  were  fountained  recesses  crowned  by  honey 
comb  work,  and  decorated  with  mosaics  of  pea 
cocks  and  huntsmen,  and  bordered  by  ornate  in 
scriptions  in  the  ancient  Cufic  character.  But 
above  all,  there  was  the  garden.  And  the  suffi 
cing  name  of  this  lovely  inclosure  was  El- Aziz  — 
The  Glorious.  For  as  Europe  was  the  glory  of 
the  world,  —  thus  the  text  ran,  —  so  Italy  was  the 
glory  of  Europe,  and  Sicily  was  the  glory  of  Italy, 
and  this  garden  was  the  glory  of  Sicily  —  the  ulti 
mate  glory  of  glories.  "  And  I  must  see  it,"  said 
the  gentle  old  man. 

"  Go,  see  it,"  said  Violante,  cruelly ;  "  and  let 
me  know  if  you  find  there  more  than  I  have  found : 
a  few  orange-trees,  such  as  may  be  seen  anywhere ; 
a  few  neglected  bean-beds,  lying  between  unkempt 
paths  ;  a  broken  cart ;  a  heap  of  brushwood ;  a 
ragged  child  or  two  .  .  .  Are  these  the  elements 
of  glory  ?  Pray  let  your  foolish  fancy  die." 

The  poor  old  man  dropped  his  head  and  stole 
away.  For  him,  also,  to-morrow  now  held  no  more 
than  to-day. 


244  THE  LAST  REFUGE 


II 

But  Donna  Violante's  exacerbated  spirit  soon 
remitted  such  excesses  as  these ;  an  impatient  scorn 
presently  gave  way  to  passive  despondency  —  a 
mood  that  threatened  to  lead  on  to  absolute  mel 
ancholia.  Monna  Clotilde  set  a  studious  eye  on 
these  changing  phases,  and  Madama  Sophonisba 
a  sympathetic  one.  "I  must  soon  take  steps  to 
rescue  that  poor  girl  from  herself,"  she  said, — 
"  and  from  her  companion."  Madama  Sophonisba 
had  definite  grounds  for  a  quickened  sympathy. 
For  more  than  a  week,  now,  she  had  been  carry 
ing  in  her  bosom  a  letter  from  the  niece  the  sight 
of  whom,  in  the  midst  of  the  new  and  noble  circle 
that  surrounded  her,  was  to  bring  a  long,  labori 
ous  journey  to  a  brilliant  close.  The  Lady  of 
Quality  read  the  letter,  and  reread  it ;  in  fact,  its 
reading  had  come  to  be  almost  a  habit.  She  read 
old  meanings  out  of  it,  and  new  meanings  into  it. 
She  read  charges  of  cruelty  and  injustice  there, 
and  accusations  against  individuals  and  against  a 
whole  social  order,  —  even  against  a  whole  civiliza 
tion.  She  was  full  of  doubts  and  fears :  fears  for 
the  inexperienced  girl  who  had  elected  to  overstep 
the  dividing  line  drawn  by  race  and  speech  and 
creed  and  had  attempted  to  make  a  life-place  for 
herself  in  an  alien  society ;  grave  doubts  whether 
that  society  could  be  the  splendid  and  soul-satisfy 
ing  thing  that  it  must  be  if  her  own  ideals  were 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  245 

to  be  realized  and  her  long  progress  to  end  in  tri 
umph.  But  one  doubt,  graver  than  any,  assailed 
her  incessantly :  the  doubt  whether  she  had  done 
well  to  send  word  at  a  venture  to  Bruno,  all  un 
known  to  Violante,  of  the  place  where  the  poor 
fugitive  was  to  be  found,  —  by  the  letter,  in  fact, 
that  had  ended  the  last  of  its  repeated  flights  in  the 
hands  of  Giacinto  Malevento.  But  as  she  saw  Vio 
lante  sinking  more  deeply  into  despondency  with 
every  hour,  she  determined  that  no  other  course 
could  have  been  possible  for  a  feeling  friend. 

"  I  was  right  to  do  it,"  Sophonisba  declared  to 
herself,  "  and  the  poor  despairing  child  shall  know 
what  I  have  done." 

She  found  Violante  in  the  lower  part  of  the 
grounds,  where  she  was  strolling  alone  through 
a  neglected  tract  overgrown  with  palmetto  and 
prickly  pear.  On  this  inferior  level  not  even  the 
most  wilful  eyes  could  by  any  chance  perceive  the 
distant  city. 

Madama  Sophonisba  told  her  of  the  letter  to 
Bruno,  and  would  have  gone  on  with  her  own 
plaints  and  fears,  but  that  Violante,  pricked  as  by 
a  goad,  stopped  her.  This  invasion  of  her  maiden 
reserve  dispelled  her  despondency  and  aroused  her 
earlier  temper  to  its  fullest  pungency. 

"  How  dared  you  do  such  a  thing  !  "  she  cried  ; 
"  without  one  word  from  me,  without  one  word  to 
me !  And  you  say,  besides,  that  you  have  placed 
one  of  your  coaches  at  his  disposal !  That  is 
odious,  impossible ! " 


246  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Not  impossible  in  my  part  of  the  world  —  nor 
in  many  others." 

"  It  is  in  this  !  " 

"  You  strain  at  gnats  —  now  ?  " 

"  But  I  will  not  strain  so  far  the  conventions  of 
my  own  order.  And  as  for  that  other  unfortunate 
girl  within  this  city's  cruel  toils,  believe  the  worst, 
believe  the  worst ! "  And  Violante  fled  away,  weep 
ing  bitterly. 

Madama  Sophonisba  could  not  save  herself  from 
yielding  complete  obedience  to  this  passionate  in 
junction,  but  the  others  round  her  were  already 
recovering  from  the  lapse  into  despair  that  had 
followed  Violante' s  arrival.  "  One  may  easily  give 
undue  heed  to  the  hasty  words  of  an  inexperienced 
girl,"  they  said ;  "  she  overcasts  everything  with 
the  tints  of  her  own  little  griefs  and  disappoint 
ments.  She  shall  not  influence  us.  We  will  go 
down  —  to-morrow." 

But  before  to-morrow  came  another  fugitive  ar 
rived,  as  if  fleeing  from  the  city  of  wrath  itself. 
At  noon  a  coach  stopped  just  outside  Eocco's  gate, 
and  a  young  woman  whose  face  bore  all  the  evi 
dences  of  dread  and  distress  that  accompany  a 
hurried  and  aimless  flight  begged  for  momentary 
asylum  and  refreshment.  As  she  came  along  the 
terrace  and  caught  sight  of  the  Lady  of  Quality, 
she  gave  a  glad  cry  of  joy  and  relief  and  fell  tear 
fully  upon  the  ample  bosom  of  her  unlooked-for 
relative,  where  she  panted  out  her  tale  of  injury 
and  woe.  A  selfish,  neglectful,  cynical  husband, 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  247 

unjust  and  hectoring  relatives,  a  scoffing  society 
debased  and  corrupt  —  all  these  had  conspired  to 
break  her  will,  to  smirch  her  ideals  and  to  prey 
upon  her  substance.  "  My  dearest  aunt,"  she 
sobbed,  "  if  you  are  going  down  there.,  think  twice, 
think  twice !  " 

"  Ha !  "  cried  Monna  Clotilde,  to  Violante ;  "  you 
hear  that !  " 

Yes,  Violante  heard  it,  and  the  others  heard  it, 
and  again  to-morrow  was  postponed. 

Ill 

The  tide,  then,  ebbed  once  more ;  but  soon  it 
was  again  at  flood.  "  How  !  "  cried  the  painter 
to  his  poet ;  "  shall  such  things  deter  us  ?  What 
have  we  here,  after  all,  but  the  distresses  of  one 
young  girl  the  more  ?  Shall  we  not,  rather,  press 
forward  to  a  city  where  such  interesting  episodes 
are  possible  ?  Life,  surely,  is  there,  —  the  life  we 
are  in  search  of,  and  the  life  we  need  !  " 

"  The  distress  of  one  young  girl !  "  muttered  the 
wistful  old  man  from  Metapontum  ;  "  what  is  that 
in  the  great  bulk  of  human  concerns  ?  It  is  little 
to  you,  and  less  to  me  ;  there  are  other  things 
upon  which  we,  inured  to  the  world,  may  fix  our 
thoughts.  She  and  her  trivial  misfortunes  shall 
not  affright  us.  We  will  go  down  —  to-morrow." 

But  before  the  lapse  of  many  hours  there  ar 
rived  a  Mere  Tourist,  hot  and  angry.  He,  too, 
fled  from  the  city  of  wrath,  and  vehement  was  his 


248  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

clamor.  He  had  been  maltreated,  robbed.  And  as 
a  consequence  of  his  own  manly  endeavors  to  com 
pel  restitution,  he  had  been  threatened,  then  duped, 
then  derided.  "  Justice  is  a  mockery  there !  "  he 
cried.  "The  whole  town  is  one  vast  conspiracy 
against  the  stranger.  And  those  who  know  best 
whisper  that  most  of  its  inhabitants  are  in  con 
spiracies  and  counter-conspiracies  against  one  an 
other,  as  well !  "  To  the  student  of  history,  who 
timidly  begged  for  some  reassuring  details,  he 
brusquely  declared  there  were  none.  "A  mon 
grel,  hybrid  population  !  "  vociferated  the  Tourist ; 
"  a  seething  mass  of  chicanery  and  corruption  ! 
Family  against  family,  clique  against  clique,  and 
all  against  the  Government.  Keep  away,  keep 
away !  There  are  wheels  within  wheels,  and  they 
will  grind  the  unwary  stranger  to  dust !  " 

This  strident  tirade  made  a  vastly  deeper  im 
pression  than  did  the  sobbing  recital  of  Madama 
Sophonisba's  niece.  Here  was  no  inexperienced 
girl,  but  a  mature  and  well-seasoned  man  of  the 
world,  whose  words  must  have  weight.  Poor 
Balanzoni  abandoned  himself  to  black  despair ; 
clearly  a  malign  fate  had  set  for  him  one  more  of 
her  ironical  traps.  The  Lady  of  Quality  relapsed 
into  doubts  over  the  wisdom  of  her  course  :  surely 
the  offer  of  one  of  her  own  coaches  had  been  ab 
surdly  impulsive  and  romantic.  No  sooner  had 
she  snatched  one  brand  from  the  burning  than 
she  seemed  to  be  thrusting  another  upon  the  same 
fiery  fate.  Monna  Clotilde  could  have  given  their 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  249 

precise  shade  of  value  to  the  wild  utterances  of  the 
Mere  Tourist,  but  she  chose  to  seize  and  to  mag 
nify  anything  that  might  thicken  the  atmosphere 
of  apprehension  in  which  her  hapless  companions 
were  moving.  She  caused  the  corruptions  and 
evils  of  the  world  to  dilate  before  Violante's 
young  eyes.  Man  was  a  cruel  and  selfish  op 
pressor  ;  woman  a  predestined  victim ;  society  a 
shifting  tissue  of  falsities  and  self-seekings.  To 
hope  was  to  invite  disappointment ;  to  trust  was 
to  invoke  betrayal.  And  much  more. 

Under  such  vigorous  schoolings  Donna  Violante 
quickly  veered  away  from  melancholy.  Her  in 
born  pride  regained  its  earlier  fibre  ;  her  nature 
even  took  on  an  unaccustomed  shade  of  hardihood. 
The  dignified  severity  of  the  outraged  goddess 
came  uppermost  once  more,  and  in  such  a  frame 
of  mind  her  two  suitors  —  in  case  they  came  — 
were  to  find  her  awaiting  them. 

IV 

Both  came  —  and  but  a  few  moments  apart. 
And  Malevento  arrived  first,  to  the  falsification 
of  all  the  Freiherr's  hopes  and  predictions.  For 
the  steamer  met  the  expectations  of  the  one  pre- 
tendant,  arriving,  by  some  unaccountable  miracle, 
on  time ;  while  the  coach  disappointed  the  expec 
tations  of  the  other,  who  indeed  had  abundant  op 
portunity  to  put  his  shoulder  to  the  wheel,  and  full 
justification,  viewing  the  accidents  of  travel,  for 


250  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

vociferating  curses  upon  his  horses,  their  driver, 
the  road,  his  fate,  —  the  whole  undertaking,  in 
short. 

Malevento  murmured  his  court  in  the  moments 
that  intervened  between  sunset  and  dusk ;  and 
Violante,  who  had  received  him  at  first  with  the 
boundless  hauteur  born  of  her  resentment  of  his 
earlier  indifference  and  of  her  mortification  over 
the  rencontre  at  Belriguardo,  slipped  down  pre 
sently  to  a  plane  upon  which  she  could  listen  to 
his  words  with  patience  at  least  if  not  with  en 
couragement.  Surely  there  were  some  things  in 
his  favor.  If  indifferent  once,  he  was  assiduous 
enough  now ;  he  was  held  to  be  a  worthy  mate  by 
her  own  family  and  circle  of  friends  ;  he  offered 
her  rescue  from  a  grotesque  and  anomalous  posi 
tion  ;  above  all,  he  had  come  unsummoned,  while 
another,  even  when  called  —  Well  might  Donna 
Violante  bite  her  lip  over  the  officiousness  of  the 
Lady  of  Quality,  and  droop  her  head  and  blush  in 
the  fading  light  to  think  how  fruitless  this  well- 
meant  service  had  been,  after  all. 

Malevento  pressed  his  advantage.  Who,  of  all 
the  pack,  had  coursed  faster,  had  lasted  longer? 
He  and  he  alone  was  in  at  the —  He  stopped 
himself  in  the  midst  of  his  ill-omened  metaphor ; 
surely  death  —  the  death  of  some  hunted  creature 
—  was  the  last  thing  in  the  world  to  mention  here. 

But  this  ominous  note,  however  muted,  was 
soon  followed  by  another  of  more  ominous  im 
port  still  —  a  note  that  sounded  like  a  clarion. 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  251 

Monna  Clotilcle,  returning  from  concerns  that  had 
caused  her  briefly  to  leave  her  post  of  duty,  was 
amazed  to  find  Malevento  in  intimate  converse 
with  her  charge  —  and  treated  with  forbearance 
and  even  consideration,  at  that.  She  instantly 
gathered  the  flying  threads  of  things  into  her  own 
competent  hands.  She  stood  forth,  before  the 
astonished  Violante,  and  launched  a  splendidly 
formal  and  impressive  curse  upon  the  Maleventi, 
root  and  branch.  She  damned  them  individually, 
and  she  damned  them  collectively.  Then,  assum 
ing  that  the  representative  of  that  stock  before  her 
would  justify  in  the  future,  if  he  had  not  already 
done  so  in  the  past,  the  most  thorough  and  careful 
employment  of  her  histrionic  talent,  she  blended 
in  one  supreme  effort  all  that  memory  and  inven 
tion  could  bring  to  her  aid  and  hurled  it  at  his 
apprehensive  head.  Violante,  none  too  familiar 
with  the  elder  school  of  acting,  was  impressed; 
clearly  she  must  think  twice  before  allying  herself 
with  the  scion  of  such  a  house  as  this. 

Malevento  would  have  laughed  outright  at  so 
naive  a  manifestation  of  belief  in  the  efficacy  of 
tragedy,  but  for  his  vexation  over  such  an  intru 
sion  at  such  a  time.  Yiolante  herself  begged 
Clotilde  to  retire,  and  the  worthy  woman,  con 
vinced  that  an  effort  of  so  much  solid  merit  could 
not  fail  of  effect  and  of  reward,  reluctantly  with 
drew.  Donna  Violante,  more  shaken  than  ever, 
and  more  racked  by  incertitudes,  drooped  over 
the  balustrade  in  the  waning  light  and  gave  pas- 


252  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

sive  precedence  to  the  flow  of  her  suitor's  dis 
course.  She  scarcely  knew  what  to  think,  what 
to  say,  what  to  feel,  —  or,  indeed,  whether  she  felt 
at  all  . 


Bruno's  heels  clanged  with  gallant  speed  over 
the  rough  flagging  of  Farmer  Rocco's  terrace.  He 
was  late,  just  as  he  had  been  late  at  Naples ;  but 
he  was  not  too  late,  he  trusted.  He  advanced 
quickly  on  the  oblivious  pair.  He  had  not  hesi 
tated  at  Trapani,  and  he  did  not  hesitate  here. 
He  snatched  Violante's  hand  away  from  Male- 
vento.  The  need  of  her  present  moment  was 
decision  ;  Bruno  provided  it.  If  his  manner  was 
that  of  a  mountain  chieftain  taking  to  himself  his 
share  of  the  spoils  after  a  successful  raid,  this  was 
a  minor  matter.  Violante's  hand  remained  in  his. 

Malevento's  tongue  was  instantly  active  with 
taunts  and  insults.  Bruno's  youth,  his  race,  his 
lagging  in  love,  his  confiding  inexperience  —  such 
things  formed  his  rival's  theme.  Malevento  scoffed 
at  his  boyish  bravado,  at  his  barbaric  ignoring  of 
the  conventions  that  govern  the  man  of  breeding, 
and  at  the  puerile  trust  that  could  make  him  such 
an  easy  dupe  as  he  had  shown  himself  at  Belri- 
guardo. 

But  he  made  no  demonstration  of  physical  force, 
and  when  he  saw  von  Kaltenau  following  slowly 
along  the  terrace  even  his  tongue  lost  its  vigor. 
Bruno  alone  he  might  have  braved ;  but  here  was 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS          253 

a  witness  in  Bruno's  behalf  whose  testimony  to  his 
own  sneaking  meanness  was  not  to  be  gainsaid. 
He  felt  himself  threatened,  as  a  last  resort,  by 
a  full  exposition  of  his  underhanded  courses  at 
Trapani :  was  not  the  game,  in  fact,  as  good  as 
lost? 

However,  he  would  try  to  hold  his  ground;  in 
any  event  he  would  yield  it,  if  yield  he  must,  with 
out  derogation  of  his  dignity.  "  When  you  are 
older,"  he  said,  eyeing  Bruno  with  a  cruelly  con 
temptuous  smile  that  tore  the  poor  boy's  self- 
esteem  like  griffins'  claws,  "  you  will  "  — 

But  the  Freiherr  interrupted.  "  My  friend 
here,"  he  said,  in  a  calm,  steely  tone,  "is  fully 
capable  of  ordering  the  matter  in  hand.  There 
are  cases  where  the  years  take  from  us  more  than 
they  give.  This  is  one  of  them." 

Violante  looked  up,  and  looked  at  von  Kaltenau 
himself.  Here  was  light  from  darkness,  a  flash 
from  the  cloud,  a  prop  when  everything  seemed 
wavering.  Malevento  caught  this  look  and  felt 
his  own  cause  doubly  lost. 

"  Go,"  said  Bruno.  "  Go  with  what  grace  you 
may,  or  stay  and  be  disclosed  for  what  you  are." 

"Go,  by  all  means,"  counselled  the  Freiherr, 
"  or  sacrifice  even  the  slight  forbearance  that  we 
might  wish  to  grant  you." 

Malevento  looked  toward  Violante  herself. 

"  Go,"  she  said. 

This  triple  demand  could  not  but  be  obeyed. 
But  it  was  little  less  than  a  triple  insidt  too,  and 


254  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

must  be  avenged.  One  poisoned  barb,  discharged 
in  flight,  might  do  the  deed. 

Malevento,  ignoring  Bruno  for  the  moment, 
glanced  back  and  forth  between  Violante  and  von 
.Kaltenau.  Clearly  the  coming  of  the  Freiherr 
had  steadied  and  comforted  her  far  more  than 
Bruno's  own;  clearly,  too,  the  tide  of  chivalrous 
admiration  returning  to  the  Freiherr's  face  was 
ordained  to  rise  once  more  to  a  higher  level  than 
that  marked  by  mere  friendship.  To  these  indi 
cations  Malevento  added  a  malicious  conjecture  of 
his  own. 

"  I  go,"  he  said,  bowing  low  to  Violante ;  "  I 
go,  and  leave  you  to  your  rival  suitors  —  still." 

And  as  he  strode  away  in  the  dusk  old  wounds 
opened,  old  difficulties  revived,  and  the  future  of 
Violante  Astrofiammante  remained  even  more  be 
clouded  by  harassing  incertitudes  than  before. 

VI 

The  Freiherr  lay  in  the  dark  beneath  his  frescoed 
ceiling  —  Rocco  had  provided  both  Bruno  and  von 
Kaltenau  with  frescoes  and  bed-coverings  —  and 
thought  of  many  things.  One  stood  forth  promi 
nently  from  all  the  rest :  he  had  heard  himself 
formally  characterized  as  a  claimant  for  Donna 
Violante's  hand.  The  speaker  had  been  unfriendly, 
but  who  could  say  that  he  had  been  ironical  ?  And 
who  could  say  that  Donna  Violante  had  given  a 
warmer  welcome  to  Bruno  than  to  von  Kaltenau 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS          255 

himself  ?  Her  manner,  as  a  fact,  had  been  warm 
toward  neither ;  but  it  was  not  difficult  to  see  upon 
which  of  the  two  her  dependence  had  instinctively 
been  placed.  Her  singular  situation  aroused  his 
sympathy ;  her  bodily  presence  had  begun  to 
quicken  once  more  his  dormant  interest.  Mere 
sympathy  —  now  fully  enlisted  for  the  first  time  — 
seemed  pushing  him  beyond  a  line  over  which  he 
had  not  yet,  strictly  speaking,  advanced.  But 
there  was  this  to  remember :  he  had  come  as  a  pro 
fessed  friend  of  a  professed  suitor  ;  honor,  fidelity 
—  both  of  these  extended  toward  him  a  steadying 
hand  and  held  him  to  the  course  of  duty. 

Bruno,  too,  lay  beneath  covers  of  Rocco's  pro 
viding  and  stared  at  Rocco's  gloom-enshrouded 
frescoes.  Whatever  friend  or  enemy  might  say, 
he  could  no  longer  accuse  the  Freiherr  of  any 
thing  remotely  resembling  treachery  or  even  cold 
ness.  But  Malevento  himself  had  come  to  feel 
what  he,  too,  had  felt  all  along ;  furthermore,  what 
was  there  in  Violante's  reception  of  him  to  bring 
reassurance  on  the  most  vital  of  all  points  ?  He 
had  come  as  a  St.  George,  a  Perseus  —  and  the 
thanks  had  gone  not  to  him  but  to  his  steed,  to  his 
golden  sandals.  He  had  done  a  gallant  deed  in 
thus  overtaking  and  dismissing  his  rival,  and  he 
had  bravely  sung  the  resounding  glories  that  for 
tune,  at  last,  had  completely  established  as  his ; 
and  yet  —  almost  for  the  first  time  —  his  youthful 
momentum  seemed  checked  and  his  bright  confi 
dence  was  replaced  by  careful  self-examination. 


256  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

And  Violante  ?  Who  shall  say  whether  she  too 
passed  the  night's  long  hours  in  perplexed  starings 
at  her  own  mythological  ceiling,  or  who  shall  as 
sure  us  that  she  gave  friend  Barbara's  rustic  bed- 
coverings  the  slightest  heed  ?  She  may  have  spent 
the  time  in  futile  fusings  of  two  irreconcilable 
ideals,  —  the  dash,  the  ardor,  the  generous  en 
thusiasms  of  youth  with  the  steady  poise  and  calm 
considerateness  of  the  middle  years.  But  her 
candle  burned  long  into  the  night,  and  morning 
showed  her  heavy-eyed  from  loss  of  sleep. 

Von  Kaltenau  was  early  astir.  The  first  person 
he  encountered  was  the  ancient  man  of  Metapon- 
tum.  "  There  is  the  city,  —  the  City  of  Happi 
ness,"  said  the  Freiherr,  pointing  through  the 
dewy  morning  air  ;  "  why  do  you  linger  here  ? 
The  birds  are  singing,  the  flowers  are  opening, 
the  sun  is  shining,  the  very  breeze  is  instinct  with 
hopes  for  happiness.  Why,  then,  do  you  linger 
here?" 

"  Not  hopes,"  returned  the  other,  timorously, 
"  but  hope  —  the  one,  the  sole,  the  last.  Is  it  a 
light  thing  to  risk  all  and  perhaps  lose  all  ?  Must 
the  sole  throw  of  the  dice  left  to  a  desperate  man 
be  made  upon  the  instant?  Shall  the  single  match 
remaining  in  the  box  on  a  numbing  winter  night 
be  struck  in  heedless  haste?  This  is  the  Last 
Refuge ;  if  we  are  disappointed  here,  there  is 
nothing  but  blank  ruin  beyond.  I  —  I  shall  go 
down,  perhaps,  to-morrow." 

"  He  is  little  better  than  mad,"  muttered  the 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS          257 

Freiherr.  "  We  must  not  leave  her  in  such  com 
pany  another  day." 

A  door  opened,  and  a  new  strange  figure  emerged 
upon  the  dew -dampened  terrace.  The  Freiherr 
gave  one  look.  "  He  belongs  here ;  he  belongs 
here  !  "  —  such  were  his  only  words. 

It  was  a  dark  yet  spectral  man  of  middle  age. 
Tragedy  was  written  upon  his  every  lineament, 
but  he  came  forward  with  the  even  step  and  firm 
bearing  of  one  who  treads  on  certitudes :  they 
might  be  terrible,  but  they  were  solid. 

"  Who  are  you  ?  "  cried  the  Freiherr,  with  an 
involuntary  cry.  "I  —  I  saw  you  in  the  shadows 
last  night,  I  think.  Why  are  you  here  ?  What 
do  you  seek  ?  What  have  you  fled  ?  " 

"  I  flee  from  nothing,"  replied  the  other,  com 
posedly,  "  for  what  follows  after  me  is  not  to  be 
escaped.  My  hour  is  approaching  and  I  am  pre 
paring  to  face  it.  Heredity  has  ordered  my  days 
and  will  set  its  own  term  to  them  in  its  own  time. 
I  but  study  to  meet  my  end  as  it  should  be  met  — 
as  my  father  met  his." 

"  Your  father  ?     And  how  did  "  — 

"  I  am  my  father's  very  self.  I  have  his  eyes, 
his  hands ;  I  have  his  very  shadow.  I  have  his 
thoughts  ;  his  ways ;  above  all,  his  tastes  "  — 

"  His  tastes  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  traveller.  Travel  filled  his  life  and 
devoured  his  substance.  He  cared  for  nothing  else ; 
I  care  for  nothing  else.  Yes,  I  have  his  tastes  to 
the  full,  and  his  years  to  the  full  —  almost." 


258  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

«  And  he  died  a"- 

"He  died  travel-mad.  As  I  shall.  He  died 
there," — pointing  to  the  city.  "I  too  shall  die 
there,  within  the  month  —  and  die  prepared,  if  a 
lifetime  spent  in  journey  ings  can  serve.  And  my 
last  scudo  will  bury  me."  He  walked  on. 

The  Freiherr  shuddered.  "The  man  is  mad 
already,"  he  groaned.  "No,  she  shall  not  stay 
here  another  hour  —  she  must  be  taken  away  at 
once." 

Presently  Dottore  Balanzoni  came  forth,  a  young 
man  by  his  side.  "  Another  pupil  in  this  accursed 
school  of  doubt,"  muttered  von  Kaltenau. 

The  youth,  despite  his  recent  schooling,  still  bore 
himself  with  something  of  a  frank  and  gallant  air ; 
hope  —  though  a  hope  beclouded  —  still  shone  from 
his  eyes.  "  He  is  too  promising  for  this,  by  far." 

He  caught  the  young  man  by  the  arm.  "  Who 
are  you,  what  are  you  ?  "  he  asked  impulsively. 
"And  what  dread  mischance  has  brought  you 
here?" 

"  I  am  an  architect,"  the  other  replied,  "  and 
the  city  before  us  has  always  been  my  dream.  I 
was  journeying  hopefully  toward  it,  when,  to  my 
own  misfortune,  I  paused  a  moment  at  this  place. 
My  mind  was  full  of  portals  and  colonnades  and 
cloisters.  I  saw  the  pointed  vaultings  of  cathe 
dral  naves,  and  the  battlemented  friezes  of  Arabic 
pavilions.  I  was  Byzantine,  I  was  Saracenic,  I  was 
Gothic.  Domes,  apses,  radiant  mosaics,  all  were 
mine  —  even  the  foolish  corruptions  and  degrada- 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  259 

tions  of  a  later  day  would  have  had  their  use  and 
their  interest.  There  was  no  room  in  me  for  doubts 
and  fears ;  but  now  they  have  crowded  out  all 
else.  What  must  I  do  ?  Tell  me,  I  pray  you !  " 

4 '  Go  ;  go  at  once,"  cried  the  Freiherr,  earnestly, 
with  a  reproachful  glance  at  Balanzoni ;  "  and 
leave  me  here  to  take  your  place.  See  your 
churches,  your  colonnades,  your  pavilions;  enjoy 
your  youth  while  you  have  it.  I  will  be  your  sub 
stitute,  and  will  think,  at  least,  of  things  I  may 
not  see." 

He  turned  away  with  a  choking  voice.  Yes, 
after  all,  the  glories  of  earth  are  for  the  young. 
Youth,  too,  must  mate  with  youth ;  and  as  for 
older  hearts  and  heads  .  .  . 

Balanzoni  left  his  student  and  followed  after  the 
Freiherr.  He  slipped  his  arm  within  the  other's, 
and  the  two  walked  down  the  oak  avenue  together, 
slowly. 

VII- 

"  You  came  quickly,"  said  Balanzoni.  "  I 
thought  I  knew  why,  but  "  — 

"  I  came  —  with  him." 

"  With  Montegrifone  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  for  your  own  ends  ?  " 

"No;  for— his." 

Balanzoni  drew  the  Freiherr's  arm  yet  more 
closely  within  his  own,  and  they  walked  on  down 
the  avenue  —  two  elderly  men  together. 


260  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

The  morning  was  still  young  when  Bruno  and 
Violante  strolled  down  the  same  avenue  and  made 
their  peace  —  another,  if  not  the  last.  The  great 
facts  were  now  ascertained  in  their  essential  mass 
and  outline,  and  only  a  few  films  of  doubt  and  un 
certainty  remained  to  impede  the  clearest  vision 
and  the  fullest  content. 

Violante  still  felt  Bruno  to  be,  as  compared 
with  von  Kaltenau  and  with  many  of  her  new 
associates,  but  a  tempestuous  boy,  —  though  order 
and  restraint,  she  knew,  would  come  with  the 
years.  Nor  was  she  able  to  close  her  eyes  to  his 
comparative  inexperience.  He  had  done  less  to 
settle  himself  in  his  new  saddle  than  his  friends 
had  done  for  him  —  one  friend  in  particular. 
Whenever  she  saw  the  lofty,  statued  sky-line  of 
Palazzo  Montegrif one  in  the  distant  city  —  Ma- 
dama  Sophonisba  had  first  pointed  it  out  to  her, 
and  the  noonday  sun  brought  it  into  clearest  view 
for  an  hour  or  more,  daily  —  she  could  not  but 
feel  that  the  Freiherr  had  been  more  effective  in 
securing  the  prompt  possession  of  that  storied  pile 
than  the  new  heir  himself.  But  the  years  would 
bring  experience  too :  surely  his  hand  would  at 
least  know  how  to  hold  what  it  had  closed  upon. 

One  thing  more :  was  he  heart-whole  ?  That 
teasing  dalliance  at  Belriguardo  —  whether  with 
lady  or  with  lady's-maid  —  had  never  completely 
left  her  memory.  She  scorned  to  insist  upon  pre 
cedence  ;  never  would  she  battle  for  supremacy. 
All  must  be  hers,  and  must  be  yielded  freely  as  a 


THE   CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  2G1 

spontaneous  and  undisputed  tribute,  without  di 
minution,  qualification,  reservation.  Not  one  piece 
of  gold  on  its  way  to  the  royal  treasury  must  stick 
to  others'  fingers.  The  very  seigniorage  must  be 
hers. 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  the  Marchesina,"  she  de 
termined  within  herself.  And  generosity  held  her 
back  no  less  than  pride. 

"  And  now,  what  of  Theodor  ?  "  asked  Bruno, 
with  his  swiftest  directness. 

Violante  flushed  at  memory  of  Malevento's  part 
ing  words,  and  once  again  at  Bruno's  own  peremp 
tory  and  masterful  tone.  Further,  she  was  made 
to  answer  questions  when  she  should  be  asking 
them! 

" 1  like  Herr  von  Kaltenau.  I  respect  him.  I 
admire  him." 

"  What  more  ?  " 

"  That  is  enough." 

"  Enough  for  his  merits,  or  for  my  guidance  ?  " 

"  Enough  for  both." 

"  Pardon  me.     That  is  not  enough  for  both." 

"  Enough  for  your  guidance,  then.  Nothing 
could  be  enough  for  his  merits." 

"  You  love  him  ?  " 

"  Would  you  force  me  to?" 

"  Little  force  would  be  needed  where  merit  is 
so  great." 

"  What  connection  is  there  between  love  and 
deserving?" 

"  You  love  me,  then,  for  my  faults  ?  " 


262  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  You  feel  them  ?  Truly  they  are  numerous 
enough  to  make  consciousness  of  them  an  easy 
matter,  even  to  yourself." 

"  What  are  they  ?  But  never  mind.  I  know 
them.  Listen;  I  will  tell  you.  The  first  and 
greatest  is  persistence  —  I  have  followed  you  too 
long,  too  far,  too  steadily  "  — 

"  Persistence,"  murmured  Violante.  She  thought 
of  the  long  nights  through  which  he  had  haunted 
the  vicinity  of  that  forbidding  palace  in  Home,  of 
the  crowded  days  during  which  he  had  searched 
for  some  trace  of  her  at  Naples,  of  the  gallant 
pursuit  that  had  led  him  stage  by  stage  from  the 
Pincian  hill  to  the  very  roof  under  which  she  had 
been  born.  "  Ah !  "  she  sighed. 

Bruno  heard  this  sigh  and  was  encouraged. 
"  Another  of  my  faults,"  he  went  on,  "  is  trustful 
ness.  I  have  trusted  in  the  kindliness  of  man,  in 
the  fair  appearance  of  things,  in  the  honor  of 
friends,  in  the  faithfulness  of  "  — 

He  paused  and  looked  markedly  at  Violante,  as 
if  expectant  of  another  sigh. 

The  sigh  did  not  come.  "  In  whose  honor  have 
you  trusted  ?  —  in  Theodor  von  Kaltenau's  ?  In 
whose  faithfulness  have  you  confided  ?  —  in  mine  ? 
Not  at  all  I  You  have  suspected  him ;  you  have 
doubted  me.  You  have  challenged  us  both  —  you 
did  it  not  a  moment  ago." 

Bruno  hastily  muted  the  string  of  trustfulness 
and  touched  another. 

"But  my  third  and  greatest  fault  is  fidelity. 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  263 

From  the  moment  I  first  saw  you  my  every  thought 
has  been  yours  ;  my  every  hope  has  centred  upon 
you"  — 

"  Are  you  deceiving  me,  or  only  deceiving  your 
self?" 

"  Neither,"  he  rejoined.  —  "  has  centred  upon 
you,"  he  repeated,  proceeding ;  "  my  every  desire 
has  been  to  please  you,  to  be  worthy  of  you,  to 
be  —  Come,  why  do  you  turn  away  ?  Look  at 
me,  I  beg  !  " 

"  No,"  said  Violante,  within  herself,  "  I  will  not 
speak  of  the  Marchesina,  even  yet." 

"  Look  at  me.  I  love  you  and  you  only.  I 
have  never  loved  another  in  my  life." 

Violante  did  look  at  him,  long  and  seriously. 
"You  swear  it?" 

"  I  swear  it !  " 

Violante  still  held  him  with  her  eye.  Conces 
sion  was  dawning  upon  her  face. 

"  You  believe  me  ?  "  he  whispered. 

Violante  believed.  Her  arms  fell  to  her  side  in 
unconscious  self-surrender.  The  treaty  of  peace 
was  now  drafted  and  engrossed,  if  not  actually 
signed  and  sealed. 


vm 

The  noonday  meal  had  come  to  a  subdued  close 
and  many  of  young  Kocco's  guests  were  upon  the 
point  of  cancelling  conscious  depression  by  the  for- 
getfulness  of  sleep  when  the  approaching  sounds 


264  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

of  gay  tumult  on  the  highway  brought  the  whole 
company  to  their  feet  and  banished  all  thought  of 
siesta  from  their  minds.  Shouts,  laughter,  and 
snatches  of  song  mingled  with  the  jolting  of  carts 
and  the  clatter  of  many  hoofs.  Presently  there 
came  into  view  a  band  of  ragged,  dishevelled 
gipsies,  accompanied  by  two  or  three  cartloads  of 
plunder.  Their  leader,  dismounting,  advanced 
with  a  graceful,  easy  swagger,  jerked  the  thongs 
of  his  sheepskin  sandals  into  place,  threw  back  his 
mop  of  black  hair,  jingled  his  big  gold  earrings, 
made  a  low  reverence,  and  begged  permission,  in 
the  sweet,  infantile  jargon  of  Sicily,  to  offer  enter 
tainment  to  the  gentry  assembled  before  him. 

Permission  was  readily  granted.  The  shabby 
carts,  each  thronged  with  its  hilarious  crew, 
squeezed  cautiously  through  Rocco's  gate  and 
came  along  the  avenue  to  the  sound  of  tambour 
ines  beaten  by  the  deft  hands  of  black -eyed 
wenches ;  and  four  or  five  lively  young  tatterde 
malions  jumped  down  quickly  to  unload  the  para 
phernalia  of  the  profession :  poles,  planks,  can 
vases,  draperies,  guitars,  three-legged  stools,  and 
a  number  of  big  battered  chests  that  might  yield 
almost  anything.  Lusty  arms  began  to  set  up  a 
booth  at  one  end  of  the  terrace  before  a  pair  of 
fig-trees,  and  the  moments  taken  for  these  pre 
liminaries  were  shortened  by  the  enlivening  songs, 
dances,  and  antics  of  those  who  remained  disen 
gaged. 

First   a  tarantella.     A  throb   or   two   from  a 


THE   CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  265 

guitar,  a  concordant  tinkle  from  a  pair  of  mando 
lins,  and  a  lithe  young  couple  rushed  at  once  into 
the  most  inspiriting  of  dances.  The  youth  spun 
and  gyrated  valiantly,  yet  found  time  to  run  his 
humorous  eye  over  the  motley  assembly  grouped 
round  him  ;  the  girl  fluttered  her  gay  petticoat 
and  flapped  her  folded  headdress  and  smiled  too 
—  but  at  her  partner,  as  if  in  the  joke  as  well, 
though  not  so  directly.  Another  couple  reinforced 
them ;  the  mandolins  and  the  guitar  sung  with  re 
doubled  vigor.  The  four  pairs  of  sheepskin  sandals 
scraped  and  shuffled  with  spirit  over  the  rude  flag 
ging  of  the  terrace,  and  the  stout  fellows  engaged 
in  setting  up  the  booth  paused  now  and  then  to 
look  on  for  a  moment  in  respectful  admiration. 

Then  a  song.  A  wild,  plaintive  thing,  —  shape 
less,  too,  save  for  the  persistent  pulsings  of  its 
peculiar  rhythm  and  for  the  recurring  chorus  that, 
at  short  intervals,  came  repeated  from  every  quar 
ter:  from  the  ridge-pole  of  the  booth,  from  the 
busy  workers  over  effects  and  properties  behind 
an  improvised  screen,  even  from  the  half  breathless 
dancers  themselves  ;  —  a  ritornello  laden  with  the 
pain  and  passion,  the  longing  and  unrest  of  all  the 
ages,  and  tissued  from  the  formless  wailings  of 
the  most  ancient  East ;  —  a  refrain  that  called  for 
the  gentle  and  regular  swaying  of  the  body,  for 
the  soft  clapping  of  the  hands,  for  the  eye's  aban 
donment  to  all  externals  and  for  its  fixture  upon 
the  eternal,  immutable  verities  within. 

All  were  impressed.     "  Why,"  said  the  Mere 


266  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

Tourist,  to  the  painter  at  his  elbow,  "  I  have  been 
everywhere  and  have  paid  to  see  everything,  but 
I  have  never  found  anything  so  perfect  as  this. 
They  look  as  they  ought,  they  dress  as  they  ought, 
they  act  as  they  ought !  It  is  too  good  to  be  true ! " 
As  indeed  it  was. 

Meanwhile,  Rocco  and  Barbara,  at  a  sign  from 
the  gipsy  leader,  were  ranging  their  chairs  in  or 
derly  rows  before  the  stage.  The  sounds  of  pound 
ing,  of  dragging,  of  pushing  multiplied  behind  the 
curtain  and  the  little  band  of  refugees  began  to 
seat  themselves  in  expectation.  The  pact  between 
Bruno  and  Violante  still  held  inviolate.  They  sat 
together  in  the  front  row  and  von  Kaltenau  took 
a  chair  just  behind  them.  The  Lady  of  Quality, 
with  her  niece,  majestically  claimed  a  conspicuous 
place,  and  Monna  Clotilde,  with  an  air  of  lofty 
patronage,  seated  herself  well  to  one  side.  The 
historian  prepared  to  make  a  gracious  descent  to 
folk-lore ;  the  young  architect  grouped  himself 
with  the  poet,  the  painter,  and  the  novelist ;  the 
silver-haired  botanist  and  the  ancient  from  Meta- 
pontum  looked  on  wistfully  from  afar.  The  mad 
man  watched  all  from  his  own  window,  above. 

Scarcely  was  the  company  brought  to  order, 
when  the  sound  of  wheels  was  heard  once  more 
on  the  highway  and  another  traveller  stopped  at 
Rocco's  gate.  It  was  Mam'zelle  Hedwig,  in  a 
numbered  cab.  She  had  followed  on  from  Tra- 
pani  and  had  put  up  at  a  hotel  in  the  city  itself. 
Then  she  had  made  a  hard-and-fast  bargain  with 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  267 

a  cab-driver  and  had  given  herself  the  luxury  of 
a  course  beyond  the  walls.  It  was  decidedly  an 
expense  not  to  be  repeated  too  often,  but  as  Mam'- 
zelle  looked  round  her  and  saw  so  many  familiar 
faces  and  found  herself  in  the  very  thick  of  an 
entertainment  that  might  rival  the  doings  at  Bel- 
riguardo  itself,  she  felt  sure  that  so  few  francs  had 
never  brought  the  promise  of  so  many  pleasures. 
"  I  might  have  given  that  man  a  sou  or  two  more," 
she  said  regretfully. 

Mam'zelle,  after  a  general  welcome  of  much 
warmth,  took  her  place  beside  the  Freiherr.  She 
thanked  him  effusively  for  the  word  so  thought 
fully  left  behind,  and  declared  the  doubts  she  had 
felt  about  finding  Montegrifone  and  himself  still 
lingering  in  so  curiously  remote  a  spot,  and  asked 
how  much  longer  they  expected  to  remain,  and 
wondered  audibly  who  some  of  the  strange  people 
round  her  might  be,  and  why  anybody  should  care 
to  put  up  for  long  with  such  forlorn  and  out-of-the- 
way  lodgings. 

"  And  the  city  so  near,  too  !  "  exclaimed  Mam' 
zelle.  "  What  are  they  all  waiting  here  for  ?  " 

"  They  are  going  down  —  to-morrow,"  replied 
the  Freiherr. 

"  Not  one  of  them  will  regret  it,"  declared  Mam' 
zelle,  enthusiastically.  "  I  had  but  an  hour  or  two 
and  went  about  only  in  the  most  general  way ;  but 
never,  never  have  I  found  a  city  so  beautiful,  so 
interesting,  so  fascinating !  Nothing  more  pictur 
esque  than  the  port ;  nothing  more  delightful  than 


268  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

the  cathedral-square ;  nothing  more  delicious  than 
those  gardens  —  so  many  of  them,  too  !  No  state 
lier  streets  in  any  capital ;  while,  as  for  that  mag 
nificent  terrace  above  the  Marina  —  oh,  I  could 
stroll  there  by  the  hour !  And  you,  too,  are  going 
down  to-morrow  ?  " 

"  To-morrow  —  or  next  day,"  he  replied,  as  the 
signal  to  begin  the  performance  was  heard. 

"  Good  !  "  returned  Mam'zelle,  with  loyal  hearti 
ness.  "  And  I  will  go  down  with  you." 

IX 

The  formal  programme  —  nothing  less  seemed 
imminent  —  opened  with  another  dance,  one  of  a 
slower  and  graver  character,  and  a  few  songs  and 
recitations  :  folk-songs  in  subdued  minor  strains, 
Neapolitan  ditties  trolled  by  a  ragged  and  jovial 
young  chorus  of  mixed  voices,  recitals  from  Ariosto 
and  Tasso  —  the  gay  Orlandos  and  Clorindas  and 
Bradamants  of  Sicily's  painted  carts  made  vocal 
for  the  ear.  Then  the  curtain  was  drawn  to,  and 
presently  the  master-spirit  of  the  revel  came  for 
ward  and  announced,  in  good  Italian,  this  time,  the 
presentation  of  a  masque  —  The  Gates  of  Glass. 

The  curtain  once  more  drawn,  there  was  dis 
closed  a  small  square  before  the  gateway  leading 
into  a  city.  On  one  side,  a  tavern  ;  on  the  other, 
a  shop  or  two.  Above  the  walls  a  few  domes  and 
towers,  roughly  painted  on  a  strip  of  blue  canvas, 
typified  the  city  within  ;  and  in  the  middle  a  pair 
of  gates,  opening  freely  at  the  touch  of  any  hand, 


THE   CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  269 

gave  access  to  it.  These  gates  were  composed 
wholly  of  glass  —  panel-like  bits  of  mirror,  f rag- 
mental  prisms,  boss-like  jewels  in  white  and  yel 
low,  all  set  at  varying  angles  and  reflecting  every 
thing  brought  before  them  a  thousand  times  over. 
They  swayed  lightly  now  and  then,  though  none 
touched  them,  and  sent  their  teasing  sparkle  even 
into  the  eyes  of  spectators  the  farthest  removed. 

The  first  to  approach  them  was  a  grave,  black- 
gowned  man  —  a  student  and  philosopher,  doubt 
less.  He  seemed  bowed  by  a  world  of  cares  — 
others'  cares  and  his  cares  for  these  cares  —  and 
his  sad  face  was  deeply  lined  by  doubts.  Seeing 
these  doubts  so  multiplied  by  the  myriad  glitter 
ing  facets  confronting  him,  he  hesitated  to  enter 
and  fell  back.  He  turned  toward  the  tavern,  sat 
down  at  a  table  in  front  of  it,  and  ordered  a  re 
past.  While  he  was  waiting,  a  gaping  yokel 
strayed  in,  looked  at  the  glassy  gates  with  a  broad 
grin,  saw  his  grin  repeated  before  him  as  by  a 
world  all  grins,  pushed  open  the  gates  without 
delay  and  disappeared  inside.  The  philosopher's 
meal  was  but  a  Barmecide  feast ;  the  dishes,  when 
uncovered,  yielded  nothing  but  smoke,  and  his 
liquor  went  up  in  a  few  airy  bubbles.  The  coun 
try  clown  emerged  from  the  city  with  a  bottle  of 
wine  under  one  arm,  a  strapping  wench  on  the 
other,  and  a  string  of  sausages  round  his  neck. 
He  grinned  more  broadly  than  ever,  his  every 
wish  gratified,  his  every  expectation  met.  The 
philosopher  sadly  withdrew.  The  idlers  of  the 


270  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

piazza  mocked  at  him  in  chorus  as  they  strummed 
their  guitars  and  beat  the  merry  measure  with 
their  feet ;  and  a  young  minx,  who  held  her  place 
behind  a  vegetable  stall,  threw  at  Dottore  Balan- 
zoni,  in  the  front  row,  a  bunch  of  withered  flowers. 

The  next  adventurer  was  younger  and  more 
erect.  He  had  but  to  be  happy,  it  seemed,  yet  he 
passed  from  place  to  place  and  from  person  to  per 
son,  picking  up  this  trouble  here  and  that  trouble 
there,  and  piling  his  back  with  the  burden  of  dif 
ficulties  that  were  his  but  by  his  own  perverse 
choice.  Then  he  paused  before  the  gates  and 
drew  his  face  to  a  painstaking  frown  in  a  search 
for  wrinkles  that  had  not  yet  come.  But  the  gates 
of  glass  put  wrinkles  there  in  full  abundance  and 
the  traveller  drew  back  abashed.  The  populace 
chanted  another  ironical  strophe,  and  the  inn 
keeper,  tossing  back  his  black  mane  and  jingling 
his  great  gold  earrings,  threw  to  Theodor  von  Kal- 
tenau  a  scroll  tied  in  a  blue  ribbon  trimmed  with 
silver  anchors.  The  Freiherr  read  :  — 

"  To-morrow  comes  not  till  to-morrow.  —  Fi- 
lippo." 

The  Freiherr  hastily  crumpled  up  his  scroll,  and 
looked  again  at  the  unkempt,  barbaric  figure  on 
the  stage.  "  Yes,  it  is  Filippo  !  "  he  murmured. 

It  was  the  Marchese  indeed.  And  the  next  per 
sonage  in  the  masque  of  this  ingenious  impresario 
was  an  elderly  woman,  magnificent  of  dress  and 
majestic  of  port :  "  The  Pride  of  Life !  "  announced 
a  loud  voice  from  one  side  of  the  stage.  "  Who 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  271 

takes  the  part  ?  "  wondered  the  Freiherr.  "  Can 
it  be  Donna  Ortenzia,  his  aunt  ?  " 

The  majestic  creature  looked  grandly  at  the 
gates  and  saw  herself  grandly  reflected.  She  thrust 
them  open  with  an  ample  gesture  and  entered  the 
city.  She  returned  through  them  a  moment  later, 
and  stood  looking  at  them  as  before.  For  her  they 
led  from  nothing  to  nothing  ;  they  were  all-sufficing 
in  their  own  hard  glitter  and  in  the  glamour  they 
threw  upon  her  magnificence.  One  poor  little  pipe, 
played  by  a  tangle-haired  lad  before  the  tavern, 
wheezed  pitifully  for  lack  of  air,  and  a  bold  young 
peasant,  rushing  forth  from  the  frame  of  the  pic 
ture,  set  a  flimsy  tinselled  crown  upon  the  head  of 
the  Lady  of  Quality. 

No  one  in  the  audience  had  attached  much  sig 
nificance  to  the  handful  of  withered  asphodels,  and 
no  one  but  the  Freiherr  knew  the  contents  of  the 
scroll ;  but  the  extraordinary  attention  bestowed 
upon  Madama  Sophonisba  caused  a  flutter  of  ex 
citement.  "  Who  are  these  daring  people  ?  "  every 
body  asked.  And,  "  Whose  turn  will  come  next  ?  " 
was  a  burning  question  with  more  than  one. 

Enter,  now,  a  springy,  sprightly,  eager  young 
woman  who  swept  over  the  stage  wondering,  ex 
claiming,  praising,  drenching  everybody  in  a  flood 
of  unbounded  and  undiscriminating  good-will.  She 
looked  at  the  gates  in  admiring  surprise,  and  the 
gates  looked  back  at  her  to  the  same  effect :  "  The 
Eyes  of  Innocence !  "  came  the  announcement  from 
behind.  This  optimistic  voyager  gave  a  gallant 


272  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

toss  of  the  head  and  passed  in  without  delay.  The 
chorus  clamored  joyfully,  and  two  merry  young 
girls  rushed  forward  from  the  sides  to  shower 
Mam'zelle  Hedwig  with  violets,  anemones,  and 
field-daisies.  "  Eespectful  homage  !  "  called  a 
voice  from  the  stage  —  the  voice  of  Capoameno, 
with  no  attempt  at  disguise. 

"  Good  old  Filippo  !  "  murmured  the  Freiherr ; 
"  he  understands  her,  after  all." 

Mam'zelle  blushed  vividly  at  this  tribute,  and 
others  round  her  felt  their  own  apprehensions 
allayed.  But  Donna  Violante  rose  to  withdraw 
upon  the  appearance  of  the  next  figures  in  the 
masque,  and  only  the  pressure  of  Bruno's  hand 
sufficed  to  detain  her  within  the  range  of  these 
impertinent  personalities.  However,  her  apprehen 
sions  were  groundless,  for  the  two  young  lovers  who 
now  entered  showed  in  their  faces  only  what  each 
found  in  the  face  of  the  other,  and  nothing  ensued 
save  a  simple  reflection  from  the  gates  of  their  own 
alternating  hopes  and  doubts.  The  singers  accom 
panied  these  fluctuations  upon  their  sympathetic 
instruments,  with  voices  now  grave,  now  gay, — 
now  timorous,  now  triumphant.  Finally,  the  entire 
company,  entering  upon  a  joyful  fortissimo,  in 
vited  the  young  pair  to  enter  the  Happy  City. 
Each  pushed  open  one  gate,  and  they  disappeared 
together. 

The  gates  opened  once  more  and  out  there  came 
a  strange,  exotic  figure  arrayed  in  farfetched  splen 
dors  and  escorted  by  a  train  of  attendant  maidens 


THE   CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  273 

and  slaves.  "  Our  Lady  of  Art !  "  was  trumpeted 
from  within  the  city. 

The  Lady  of  Art  was  none  too  tall,  but  she 
strove  for  stateliness  with  a  grand  good-will,  as 
sisted  by  a  towering  and  fantastic  headdress  and 
by  the  long  trailing  of  her  heavily-embroidered 
robe.  She  cast  a  demurely  quizzical  glance  upon 
her  devotees  in  the  audience  —  painting,  architec 
ture,  literature,  the  drama  were  all  represented  — 
as  if  meditating  mischief ;  then  she  caught  sight  of 
Rocco  and  Barbara  standing  well  to  one  side  near 
the  door  of  their  own  humble  quarters,  and  seemed 
suddenly  to  change  her  mind.  She  signalled  her 
attendant  Nubians  to  set  down  one  of  the  great 
chests  and  to  take  up  another ;  then  the  procession, 
reforming,  came  down  from  the  stage,  musicians 
and  all,  and  advanced  in  intimidating  fashion  upon 
Rocco  and  his  wife.  This  devoted  pair,  vastly  per 
turbed,  shrank  back,  but  the  Lady  of  Art  would 
accept  no  denial  of  hospitality.  She  had  marked 
these  simple  souls  for  her  own,  and  meant  to  work 
her  fantastic  will  upon  them.  Farewell  to  simpli 
city,  farewell  to  homeliness  ;  the  exotic,  the  facti 
tious,  the  over-elaborated  must  reign  instead. 

The  spectators,  leaving  their  rude  wooden  chairs 
in  a  disordered  huddle  on  the  terrace,  flocked  after ; 
none  could  divine  the  end  of  so  portentous  a  visita 
tion.  Monna  Clotilde,  still  hoping  that  a  laurel 
crown  would  be  her  modest  portion,  followed  the 
rest ;  the  dumb  poet,  still  dreading  the  presenta 
tion  of  a  stringless  lyre,  came  with  her. 


274  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

The  Lady  of  Art  paused  before  Rocco  and  Bar 
bara  long  enough  to  conceal  the  homely  garments 
of  daily  toil  by  casting  rich  brocades  over  their 
unwilling  shoulders.  Then  she  moved  on  to  the 
modest  bedchamber  where  little  Nino  lay  sleeping 
in  his  cradle,  and  Barbara,  struggling  in  her  robe 
of  gold  and  purple,  followed  in  swift  alarm.  The 
light  that  illumined  the  room  where  Nino  slept 
was  the  blessed  light  of  day ;  but  the  Lady  of  Art 
cloaked  the  windows  with  tapestries  from  her  cof 
fers  and  set  aburning  dim  flames  in  colored  lamps. 
The  air  that  filled  the  room  was  the  thrice-blessed 
air  of  heaven,  perfumed  with  the  breath  of  violets 
and  bay ;  but  the  Lady  of  Art  soon  had  it  thick 
ened  with  pungent  exhalations  from  jewelled  cen 
sers.  A  cruse  of  pure  water  stood  hard  by ;  the 
imperious  visitant  tinctured  it  with  some  sweet 
essence  or  other,  and  sent  one  of  her  maids  to  per 
form  a  like  office  at  the  well  itself.  A  wolfskin 
was  nailed  upon  the  wall,  just  above  the  weapon 
that  had  won  it.  Our  Lady  ordered  it  torn  down. 

"  No !  "  cried  Eocco,  casting  aside  his  brocades, 
and  asserting  the  pride  of  manhood  in  its  own 
prowess. 

"  Yes !  "  cried  Our  Lady.  And  for  Rocco's 
honest  trophy  she  substituted  a  stand  of  arms  — 
corselets,  lances  and  the  like,  stripped  from  the 
train  behind  her. 

She  advanced  to  the  cradle  to  wrap  the  sleeping 
child  in  voluminous  cloth  of  gold,  stiff  and  bris 
tling  with  embroidery. 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  275 

"  No,  no  !  "  cried  Barbara,  fearful  of  scratches 
on  tiny  nose  and  hands. 

"  Yes,  yes !  "  returned  the  Lady  of  Art ;  for 
even  the  very  infant  in  his  cradle  must  suffer  from 
the  over-refinements  of  a  civilization  pushed  too 
far. 

Our  Lady  regained  the  threshold  and  sank 
laughing  upon  a  bench  close  against  the  outside 
wall.  Her  stateliness  fell  from  her  like  a  gar 
ment,  her  face  was  illumined  by  a  rare  and  mis 
chievous  smile,  and  her  laughing  eyes  challenged 
recognition  from  the  company  crowding  round. 

Bruno  was  the  earliest  to  recognize  her.  "  It  is 
Lucetta !  "  he  murmured.  "  It  is  the  Marchesina  I " 
he  proclaimed  to  the  whole  assembly. 


"  He  was  the  first  to  know  her  !  "  moaned  Vio- 
lante,  from  the  window-sill  of  her  own  rude  little 
room. 

"  My  poor,  poor  child  !  "  crooned  Monna  Clo- 
tilde,  at  her  side.  "  Look  no  longer.  Come  away; 
come  away ! " 

Bruno  and  Lucetta  were  walking  gayly  up  and 
down  the  terrace  beneath  Yiolante's  window.  Lu 
cetta  still  trailed  the  strange  habiliments  of  the 
Lady  of  Art,  and  she  had  caused  Bruno  to  put  on 
the  rich  robe  that  Rocco  had  disdained.  The  false 
gipsies  were  refreshing  themselves  after  their  ex 
ertions  ;  the  real  gipsies,  whose  caravan  they  had 


276  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

surprised  and  appropriated,  were  busy  dismantling 
their  booth  and  packing  their  carts.  Filippo  still 
clung  to  his  great  gold  earrings,  and  knocked  his 
heavy  glass  upon  the  table  with  the  heartiest  aban 
don. 

"  Surely,"  said  the  Freiherr,  "  you  are  the  most 
ingenious  fellow  in  the  world  !  But  your  ingenuity 
has  involved  you  once :  I  can  only  trust  that  it 
may  not  do  so  again." 

"  Ho  !  "  cried  Filippo,  banging  his  glass  again, 
as  if  loth  to  leave  his  part ;  "  no  one  shall  be  glum, 
no  one  shall  be  morose,  if  I  can  help  it !  To  hear 
of  your  plight  was  to  rescue  you  from  it." 

"  You  may  have  put  us  in  another,"  said  von 
Kaltenau,  gravely.  "  If  "  — 

"  Theodor,  my  dear  Theodor,"  cried  Capoameno, 
drowning  the  Freiherr's  voice  with  a  succession  of 
resounding  thumps,  "  not  a  word  more  !  "  And 
young  Cervel-Balzano,  a  good  second,  added  his 
own  noise  to  the  rest  from  a  table  close  by. 

Meanwhile,  Bruno  and  Lucetta  paraded  up  and 
down  the  terrace  together.  She  knew,  now,  his 
quality,  and  the  solid  ground  upon  which  it  was 
based.  All  embarrassment  between  them  was 
over.  He  was  now  host,  or  fancied  himself  such, 
and  she  a  new-come  guest ;  never  could  he  expect 
a  better  occasion  to  make  full  and  chivalrous 
amends  for  his  shabby  treatment  of  her  at  Belri- 
guardo.  He  rose  to  the  moment  with  the  great 
est  gallantry,  and  Donna  Violante,  at  her  window- 
above,  burned  with  indignation  and  wounded  pride. 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  277 

"  I  get  my  dues,  finally  I  "  laughed  Lucetta,  who 
had  an  open  fondness  for  attentions. 

"  In  spite  of  yourself !  "  declared  Bruno.  "  No 
one  ever  knows  how  to  take  you  or  where  to  have 
you.  You  mystify  us,  and  then  chide  us  for  the 
slowness  of  our  wits  !  You  lure  us  into  the  morass, 
like  a  will-o'-the-wisp,  and  then  twinkle  derision  at 
us  for  our  folly !  " 

The  Marchesina,  in  propria  persona,  had  been 
very  gracious  and  winning  with  every  one,  save 
Donna  Violante,  for  whom  she  had  a  peculiar  look 
and  air  that  cut  the  poor  girl  to  the  quick.  "  Still 
roaming  ?  "  Lucetta's  eyes  seemed  to  ask.  "  No 
nearer  an  understanding  ? "  was  the  query  con 
stantly  in  her  manner.  Violante  felt  keenly  the 
cruel  difference  in  their  respective  situations.  The 
Marchesina,  suitably  attended,  could  safely  indulge 
herself  to  the  full  in  all  kinds  of  whims  and  vaga 
ries  ;  she  herself,  in  a  position  lamentably  anoma 
lous,  was  scarcely  on  a  footing  secure  enough  to 
ask  her  own  just  dues.  Surely,  too,  Lucetta,  be 
low  on  Bruno's  arm,  glanced  up  now  and  then  at 
her  window  as  if  adding  taunt  to  question  .  .  . 

"  Look  no  longer,"  counselled  Monna  Clotilde. 
"  Come  away ;  come  away." 

But  Violante  looked  a  moment  more.  Bruno, 
about  to  relinquish  the  Marchesina  to  others,  was 
stooping  with  great  gallantry  to  kiss  her  hand. 

"  Poor  child,  poor  child  !  "  moaned  Monna  Clo 
tilde,  and  set  a  commiserative  kiss  on  Violante's 
own  despairing  face. 


278  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

Violante  descended  to  the  garden  and  sought 
out  Theodor  von  Kaltenau.  "  Take  me  home," 
she  said,  like  a  beseeching  child.  "  Take  me  down 
to  my  mother." 

The  Freiherr  was  greatly  moved.  The  last 
words  of  Malevento  flew  straight  to  his  mind. 
Was  this  an  expression  of  final  preference  ?  Was 
it  a  claim  upon  an  assured  devotion  ?  Had  his 
own  uncertainty,  his  own  blindness  driven  the  girl 
to  such  a  confession  as  this  ?  But  the  point  was 
soon  made  clear.  Donna  Violante,  in  the  shelter 
of  an  opportune  syringa,  dropped  her  head  upon  his 
shoulder  and  sobbed  out  her  heart  upon  his  breast. 
He  was  but  a  friend,  then  —  only  an  adviser  and 
helper,  after  all.  Never  had  he  felt  older. 

He  sought  out  Bruno. 

"  Donna  Violante  is  ready  to  return  to  her 
home.  Go  with  her,  and  go  at  once  !  "  He  still 
felt  the  girl's  head  upon  his  shoulder.  "  Take  her 
and  go,"  cried  the  Freiherr,  in  a  voice  vibrant 
with  passion  ;  "  go,  I  beg  you,  in  Heaven's  name, 
without  an  hour's  delay !  " 

Bruno  grasped  von  Kaltenau's  hand.  "  One 
kindness  the  more  !  You  have  done  this  too  for 
me,  and  I  find  no  words  to  thank  you  !  " 

"  Find  a  coach,  a  cart,  a  cab  !  "  — 

"  A  cab !     Where  is  Mam'zelle  Hedwig's  ?  " 

"  Dismissed.  A  few  francs  saved.  But  there 
are  coaches  in  the  stable.  I  will  ask  for  one." 

Von  Kaltenau  sought  the  Lady  of  Quality. 

Madama  Sophonisba  sympathized,  but  was  re- 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  279 

luctant  to  assist.  "  Ah,  that  foolish,  impulsive 
offer  of  mine  !  I  thought  you  had  indulgently 
consented  to  overlook  it,  and  now  it  returns  to 
plague  me !  What  follies  one  may  commit  to 
paper !  Release  me ;  I  will  not  be  the  means 
of  sending  this  dear  girl  down  into  that  dreadful 
city.  Scarcely  do  I  dispatch  my  letter  to  Monte- 
grif one,  when  my  own  niece,  fleeing  from  this  same 
town" —  Madama  Sophonisba  pressed  her  hands 
to  her  eyes  and  shuddered. 

"  Ha !  "  thought  the  Freiherr ;  "  you,  then,  were 
the  writer  of  that  letter,  and  this  is  what  you 
wrote  !  "  Then,  aloud,  and  very  gravely  :  "  We 
hold  you  to  your  promise,  madam." 

"  Release  me !  "  cried  the  Lady  of  Quality. 

"  We  hold  you  to  your  promise  !  " 

"  But  do  you  realize  what  you  ask  ?  Think ! 
An  innocent  young  girl,  almost  my  own  daughter, 
abused,  tormented,  despoiled  "  — 

"  The  cases  are  different.  Donna  Violante  re 
turns  to  her  own  birthplace  and,  I  suppose,  to  her 
own  home." 

The  Lady  of  Quality  pondered.  "  You  may  be 
right"- 

"  I  know  I  am  right.  Not  an  hour  longer  must 
she  remain  among  us  and  all  our  doubts  and  fears. 
Not  an  hour  longer  shall  she  suffer  the  ruinous 
companionship  of  that  misanthropic  Clotilde.  I 
should  have  had  a  cab  for  her,  but  that  the  "  — 

"  A  cab  ?  A  cab  for  such  an  adventure  as  this  ? 
No,  no ;  she  shall  have  one  of  my  coaches.  She 


280  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

shall  have  the  best  and  biggest  of  them !    She  shall 
go  down  in  my  own !  " 


XI 

Violante  paused  before  the  open  door  of  the 
coach  and  turned  to  take  the  helping  hand  of 
Theodor  von  Kaltenau. 

All  the  occupants  of  the  villa  were  gathered 
round  her  —  a  wide  participation  undreamt  of  in 
the  Freiherr's  original  plan.  Monna  Clotilde  wore 
her  darkest  frown  ;  Madama  Sophonisba  was  smil 
ing  through  her  tears.  The  painter  and  the  novel 
ist,  ravenous  for  "  life,"  lent  their  intent  senses  to 
every  move.  Lucetta  and  Donna  Ortenzia  showed 
the  highest  interest,  if  no  great  depth  of  sympathy. 
Rocco  and  Barbara  let  the  action  drift  by  them, 
open-mouthed  in  wonder.  The  gipsies,  loading 
their  last  cart,  paused,  a  ragged  wide-eyed  group, 
in  the  background. 

The  Freiherr  cowered  beside  Dottore  Balanzoni. 
After  all,  it  was  the  final  sacrifice  ;  and  who,  more 
over,  could  assure  him  —  in  view  of  an  auditory 
so  unexpectedly  numerous  —  of  the  success  of  his 
bold  device?  Donna  Violante  searched  him  out 
with  inquiring  eyes  and  once  more  extended  her 
hand. 

Bruno  stepped  forward  and  took  it  —  or  at 
tempted  to.  Violante  drew  back  haughtily. 

"  How  dare  you  touch  me  ? "  she  demanded. 
"  How  dare  you  face  me  ?  " 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  281 

Bruno  fixed  her  firmly  with  his  eye,  and  again 
put  out  his  hand.  "  It  is  with  me  that  you  are  to 
go,"  he  said. 

Violante  cast  a  look  upon  the  Freiherr  —  a  look 
of  doubt,  wonder,  indignation. 

The  Freiherr  bowed,  without  a  word. 

Protest.  Rebellion.  Nay,  rather  the  noble 
wrath  of  a  sovereign  lady  duped  by  her  chancel 
lor.  "  Another  ruse  !  "  cried  Violante  ;  "  another 
plot !  One  last  deception,  —  from  you,  too,"  — 
with  a  look  of  cutting  accusal  at  the  Freiherr,  — 
44  you,  whom  I  trusted  to  the  very  end,  —  you,  in 
whom  I  confided  when  I  doubted  all  else  !  "  She 
felt  the  world  crumbling  about  her. 

44  Go,"  said  the  Freiherr ;  "  and  go  with  him. 
It  is  fit.  It  is  right." 

44  Fit  and  right,"  repeated  Bruno.  "  Nothing 
else  is.  You  are  to  go  with  me,  and  you  are  to 
stay  with  me." 

"Never!" 

"  Always !  " 

4'  I  will  not  listen  to  such  words  of  high-handed 
mastery,"  she  said.  "  I  will  not  be  hectored,  I 
will  not  be  coerced,  I  will  not  be  dragooned.  No 
one  shall  take  that  tone  with  Violante  Astrofiam- 
mante ! " 

44  No  one  but  me  !  " 

44  Go,"  repeated  the  Freiherr.  4'  Leave  this  place 
of  doubts.  Learn  once  more  to  trust.  The  world, 
we  have  been  taught,  is  but  a  reflection  of  our 
selves.  Yield.  Trust.  Go." 


282  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

"  Stay,"  croaked  Monna  Clotilde,  "  or  live  to 
repent  it !  " 

"Go,"  cried  Filippo;  "and  godspeed  on  your 
way!" 

"  Stay  !  "  implored  Sophonisba's  niece.  "  Listen 
to  one  who  has  herself  overstepped  the  line  of  race, 
of  speech,  of  creed." 

"  Go !  "  cried  Mam'zelle  Hedwig.  "  What  bars 
of  race,  of  speech,  of  creed  must  be  surmounted 
here  ?  "  She  looked  with  marked  significance  at 
Theodor  von  Kaltenau. 

"  Stay,"  said  the  madman.  "  Wait  till  you  can 
place  a  wreath  upon  my  tomb." 

"  Go ;  go !  "  called  the  dumb  poet.  "  Be  brave  ; 
be  brave ! " 

He  reached  out  his  own  hand  —  that  hand  pre 
servative  —  to  help  her  into  the  coach.  Still 
Donna  Violante  refused. 

The  painter  and  the  romancer  were  delighting 
in  the  changing  phases  of  the  contest.  The  latter 
now  resolved  that  he  too,  finally,  would  participate 
in  life  —  at  least  to  the  extent  of  handing  a  hero 
ine  into  her  carriage.  No  matter  that  others  had 
failed. 

"  Yes,  go,"  he  said,  stepping  forward.  "  Live 
life  in  its  fulness.  Taste  its  joys,  Its  sorrows,  its 
endless  vicissitudes." 

Violante  struck  his  hand  away.  "  Fall  back, 
you  foolish  meddler  !  " 

Balanzoni  advanced.  "  Go,"  he  said.  "  Enter 
the  Last  Refuge." 


THE  CITY  OF  HAPPINESS  283 

Still  Violante  held  her  ground.  She  cast  her 
eyes,  tearful,  troubled,  yet  indomitably  proud,  over 
all  the  motley  and  clamorous  company. 

"  I  will  not  go !  "  she  said.  "  The  whole  world 
has  combined  to  dupe  me,  to  flout  me,  to  outrage 
me.  From  such  a  fate  I  know  of  but  one  Last 
Refuge,  and  that  is  death !  " 

"  No,  no !  "  cried  Bruno,  firmly  seizing  both  her 
hands.  "  No  ;  a  thousand  times  no !  Your  Last 
Refuge  is  here  !  —  it  is  I,  and  I  alone  ;  refuge  and 
sanctuary  alike  !  "  He  threw  wide  his  arms.  "  The 
sanctuary  stands  open  for  you  ;  enter." 

Rocco  shouldered  his  mattock  and  trudged  away. 
"  The  Last  Refuge  is  work,"  he  said ;  "the  Last 
Refuge  is  duty." 

"  Come,"  said  Bruno,  with  a  noble  determination 
firing  his  dark  eyes.  "  It  is  a  sanctuary  where  no 
other  image  is  worshipped,  —  a  sanctuary  that  no 
alien  ritual  has  ever  profaned.  The  world,  they 
tell  us,  is  what  we  make  it,  what  we  think  it.  Be 
that  as  it  may,  we  must  take  its  good  and  its  evil 
together.  I  will  give  you  what  I  can  of  the  one 
and  keep  you  as  far  as  I  may  from  the  other.  I 
am  wholly  yours.  Come." 

Donna  Violante  yielded  at  last,  —  a  convert  to 
the  true  faith,  and  willing  to  overlook  the  fact 
that  Bruno's  tone  had  far  less  of  entreaty  than 
of  command.  She  entered  the  coach.  Bruno 
quickly  followed.  Theodor  von  Kaltenau  closed 
the  door. 

The  ancient  man  of   Metapontum  breathed  a 


284  THE  LAST  REFUGE 

wistful  sigh.  "  Ah !  two  of  us,  at  least,  are  des 
tined  to  enter  the  City  of  Happiness  !  " 

"  We  are  destined,"  returned  Bruno,  through 
the  open  window,  "  for  whatever  place  I  choose." 
The  will  of  his  wild  ancestors  was  his  to  the  full. 

The  coach  drove  away.  It  took,  not  the  high 
way,  but  the  road  that  doubled  on  the  slope  below 
the  terrace  —  a  road  that  might  lead  to  the  City  of 
Happiness,  or  elsewhere. 

The  company  leaned  over  the  balustrade  and  fol 
lowed  its  descent.  Donna  Violante's  face  showed 
now  from  one  side  and  then  from  the  other.  None 
could  say  whether  or  no  she  were  content.  The 
Freiherr,  immovably  pensive,  followed  every  mo 
ment  of  her  course  —  youth  was  taking  its  final 
flight.  Mam'zelle  Hedwig,  standing  close  beside 
him,  fluttered  her  handkerchief  at  intervals.  As 
the  coach  made  its  last  turn,  far  below,  the  face  of 
Donna  Violante,  looking  upward,  showed  once 
more,  and  they  saw  that  she  was  smiling. 


Electrotype*  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &•  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass,  U.S.  A. 


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